Jakarta never sleeps, and it seemed Thomas wasn't allowed to rest either.
The first week of college went by like a spinning top wound too tight. From morning until noon, Thomas was a Universitas Indonesia student sitting quietly in the corner of the classroom, diligently recording every word the lecturer said. However, the moment classes ended, he shed his skin. His neat shirt was covered by a shabby jacket, and a standard helmet—bought secondhand along with his old Honda motorcycle—became his crown.
That motorcycle was proof of Eben's sacrifice. Every time the engine roared, Thomas felt as if he could hear the sound of dirty plates being scrubbed by his older brother in the kitchen of a Padang restaurant. The sound weighed on him, forcing him not to waste even a single drop of gasoline.
He had to work. The allowance from his parents was barely enough, while the scholarship he was promised wouldn't open until mid-semester. Thomas had to survive on his own sweat.
"Okay, good. Class is dismissed for today. Don't forget, the structural analysis assignment is due next week on my desk," said Professor Richard as he organized the stack of papers on his desk.
The noisy sound of students packing their things immediately filled the air-conditioned room. Thomas quickly shoved his notebook into his backpack, wanting to get out before getting trapped in small talk.
"Hey, Thomas!"
Too late.
Bernard, a classmate who looked stylish with his expensive watch, approached Thomas's desk. Next to him was Clara, a student who always wore a friendly smile.
"Do you want to hang out? We're heading to the Humanities Canteen (Kantin Sastra); they say the coffee there is good. We can discuss Prof Richard's assignment while we're at it, so it feels lighter," Bernard invited enthusiastically.
"Yeah, Tom. Come join us, so we can get to know each other better as a batch," Clara chimed in.
Thomas felt a familiar surge of panic in his chest. The invitation sounded sincere. In his old life, Thomas would have certainly accepted, then dominated the discussion and shown off his intelligence. But the Thomas of today was different. He looked at Bernard and Clara, seeing two good people who hadn't yet been contaminated by his "poison."
Don't get close. I am a destroyer, his inner voice warned.
Thomas forced a thin smile, a polite expression designed to keep his distance. "Sorry, guys. I... have other business. I have to go immediately."
"Aw, you're so busy," Bernard complained, slightly disappointed. "Work, is it?"
"Yes, I drive an ojek (motorcycle taxi)," Thomas answered honestly. He wasn't ashamed to admit his job, but he was ashamed to admit who he really was.
Bernard and Clara looked at each other, a moment of awkwardness surfacing briefly. "Oh... okay then, Thomas. Good luck with work! Be careful on the road."
Thomas nodded, then hurried out of the classroom. He walked quickly toward the spacious student motorcycle parking lot. The one o'clock Depok sun immediately stung his skin the moment he stepped out of the building.
He mounted his bike, putting on a helmet that was starting to smell musty from sweat and road dust. His destination wasn't his boarding house, but an ojek station near the Kukusan Teknik gate. Luckily, Mr. Budi—his landlady's kind-hearted husband—was one of the elders there. Thanks to that connection, Thomas was allowed to pick up passengers there without being hassled by the other local drivers.
"Afternoon, Mr. Budi, Mr. Adi," Thomas greeted as he parked his bike at the very end of the row.
Mr. Budi, who was sipping black coffee, waved his hand. "Eh, Thomas. You're here early? Class went smoothly?"
"Smoothly, Sir. Only one subject today," Thomas replied while taking off his helmet.
"That's good. Just in time, lots of kids are going home now," Mr. Adi chimed in. Not long after, a female student was seen looking around for a ride. "There, that's your fortune, Thom. Go get it."
"On it, Sir."
Thomas immediately approached the passenger. "Ojek, Miss?"
For the next four hours, Thomas battled the hot asphalt of Margonda. Taking students to the station, taking mothers to the market, delivering document packages. His back was sore, his face dull from the exhaust smoke of Kopaja buses, but every thousand-rupiah bill he received calmed him down a little.
That evening, he returned to his cramped room with his body battered and bruised. But he was grateful for the exhaustion. The exhaustion allowed him to sleep soundly without nightmares.
***
Three days later, Thomas felt his body wasn't in prime condition.
The afternoon sun illuminated the Faculty of Engineering corridor with a blinding golden light. Thomas walked out of Calculus class weakly. I shouldn't drive the ojek today, he decided inwardly. I need rest so I don't get sick.
He walked down the long hallway connecting the lecture building to the open area. The corridor was quite crowded. Students passed by, laughing or discussing things. Thomas kept his head down, staring at the tips of his shoes, trying to be invisible as usual.
However, just as he was about to turn at the corridor intersection leading to the stairs, his eyes caught a figure.
At the end of the hallway, laughing with two friends, stood a girl with shoulder-length hair whom he knew very well.
Thomas's heart stopped beating for a second. The blood drained from his face instantly.
Chelsea.
It was really Chelsea. His middle school friend. The living witness to his crime. The person who labeled him a "Destructive Monster."
The world seemed to tilt. Chelsea's crisp laughter sounded like a danger siren in Thomas's ears. Why? Why, out of millions of people in Jakarta, did Chelsea have to be here? At the same campus? In the same faculty?
Pure panic seized his sanity. Thomas didn't think. His bodily reflexes took over. He turned around instantly, wanting to run, wanting to disappear, wanting to cease existing right then and there.
But he didn't look behind him.
CRASH!
Thomas's body slammed hard into someone walking behind him. Thick books scattered across the floor.
"Hey! Use your eyes when you walk!" snapped a deep voice.
Thomas stumbled, almost falling. Standing before him was a large senior student, his face red with shock and anger.
"So-sorry... I... I didn't mean to," Thomas stammered, his voice trembling violently. His eyes darted wildly behind him, terrified that Chelsea would turn around because of the commotion.
"The road is this wide, how could you crash into me? Are you in such a rush, like you're being chased by a ghost!" the senior scolded while roughly picking up his books.
"Sorry. I'm so sorry..." Thomas helped pick up one book with shaking hands, then handed it over. "I... excuse me."
Without waiting for an answer, Thomas half-ran away, taking a detour that was much quieter. His breath came in short gasps, cold sweat soaking his temples.
Chelsea had turned her head toward the commotion. She saw the back of a young man running away.
Meanwhile, Thomas kept walking fast until he reached the Lake Kenanga area.
The memory returned.
The brief encounter—even just seeing her—had torn open the Pandora's box he had struggled to keep shut tight with the busyness of college and working as an ojek driver.
The image of Dimas falling from the desk. The sound of snapping bones. The screams of pain. Chelsea's face looking at him with disgust. Everything replayed in his head like a broken cassette tape playing at max volume.
Monster. You are a monster. You can't run.
Nausea jabbed at the pit of his stomach. Thomas turned toward the lush campus park. He needed air. He needed oxygen.
He threw his body down beneath a large banyan tree. Thomas sat hugging his knees, hiding his face for a moment between his arms.
Chelsea's presence forced his memories to spin again. It wasn't the fear of being found out that he felt, but a sense of revulsion. That girl was a mirror reflecting the sins of his past—Dimas's screams and his own cruelty that he so desperately wanted to forget.
But slowly, the turmoil of emotions receded, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion. His energy felt completely drained.
Thomas lifted his face slowly. He stared blankly at the grass, slightly damaged where his shoes had stepped. His mind suddenly went numb, empty. His body sat statue-still, yet unconsciously, a long, heavy sigh escaped his mouth several times.
Silence for a moment.
"Your sigh sounds very heavy, Son. Like you're carrying the world alone."
Thomas jolted. His daydream shattered instantly.
He turned stiffly to the side. He hadn't realized at all that on the long wooden bench near the tree where he sat, there was a middle-aged man. The man, perhaps in his early 50s, sat casually with a thick book on his lap. His appearance was relaxed; a short-sleeved t-shirt, trousers, and reading glasses perched on his sharp nose. His face was clean shaven, giving an impression of calm and authority.
The man didn't look at Thomas with a judgmental or curious gaze. He looked at Thomas like a father watching his child fall off a bicycle—patient and understanding.
"Uh... n-no..." Thomas hurriedly straightened his back, feeling awkward. He rubbed his face roughly, trying to collect himself. "I'm fine, Sir. Just... my head hurts. A bit dizzy from the heat."
The man smiled faintly. Very faintly, but warmly. He closed his book slowly.
"Sometimes," he said softly, his voice flowing calmly, "our heads hurt not because of the weather or illness, but because our shoulders are trying to hold up a burden that is too heavy to carry alone."
Thomas fell silent. The sentence was simple, but somehow it felt piercing.
The man shifted his gaze to the lake in front of them, where swans were swimming peacefully. "Humans are fragile social creatures, Son. We aren't designed to be warehouses for storing problems. We need other ears to simply share, so the mass of the burden on our shoulders is reduced."
He turned back to Thomas. His gaze penetrated directly into Thomas's wary eyes, but strangely, Thomas didn't feel threatened. He actually felt... safe.
"My name is Rudi," the man said, introducing himself. "I'm a lecturer in the faculty next door, but almost every afternoon I sit here. Enjoying the breeze, avoiding the traffic."
Rudi rose slowly from his seat, tucking the thick book under his armpit. Before walking away, he looked at Thomas one more time.
"If one day that container in your head gets too full and needs to be spilled out, just come to this bench. My old ears still function well enough to listen to any story. Including the very worst ones."
Rudi patted the air between them gently—a polite gesture of farewell—then walked away with steady steps, leaving behind the faint scent of sandalwood cologne.
Thomas didn't answer. his tongue was tied. He just watched Mr. Rudi's back as he moved further away until he disappeared behind the trees.
Slowly, Thomas's breathing began to regulate. His panic receded. For the first time since he set foot in Jakarta, amidst the pain in his head, Thomas felt that someone saw him—not as a smart student, not as an ojek driver, and not as a monster.
Just as an ordinary human being who was exhausted.