Thomas's eyes were fixed on the cracks in the bedroom ceiling that formed a pattern resembling a shattered map. The white paint, now yellowed, was peeling in several corners, falling as flakes of dust onto the cement floor. It was nine in the morning, yet the sunlight piercing through the ventilation slats felt hot and stung his skin.
Beside him, Eben's pillow still held an indent, a sign that his older brother had only just gotten up to start his day.
His mind drifted back to the hospital hallway yesterday. Dimas's pale face, the tubes winding around his body, and the sobbing of Dimas's parents that seemed to tear through the air. Every detail struck his soul.
One small shove nine years ago, and this is the result, Thomas thought bitterly. He wanted to tell the truth, he wanted to confess his sin, but seeing the devastation in the eyes of Dimas's parents paralyzed his tongue. He felt as though he were carrying a burden of thousands of tons that he could neither set down nor throw away.
An hour passed just like that. Thomas remained still, staring at the ceiling as if it were slowly collapsing onto him.
***
Thomas finally forced himself to get up. The house felt quiet, but the rhythmic sound of a brush hitting fabric echoed from the front porch. He knew it was his mother. Thomas walked to the kitchen, saw a plate of rice and side dishes covered by a food shroud, then rushed to bathe.
After showering, he put on jeans and a plain t-shirt. He stood for a moment in front of an old mirror whose surface had begun to cloud. His reflection looked foreign; his face was gaunt, his eyes showing a weariness that no amount of sleep could cure.
He stepped out onto the porch. There, his mother was crouching in front of large buckets, surrounded by piles of the neighbors' laundry. The stinging scent of cheap detergent mixed with the hot steam rising from the water-splashed cement floor.
"Oh, Thomas, you're awake?" Mom asked without looking up from her brush.
"Yes, Mom," Thomas answered shortly.
"There's food on the kitchen table, have you eaten?" Mom asked again, her hand pausing for a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow.
"Yes, Mom, I've already eaten."
Mom finally turned around. She squinted, only just noticing that Thomas was dressed neatly with his shoes already on. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going to a friend's house."
"Oh, okay. Don't be home late. Your father wants to talk to you about your studies in Jakarta," Mom said, refocusing on the laundry.
"Yes, Mom."
Thomas stood up after tightening his laces and walked away without looking back. He was lying. There were no friends he wanted to meet in this town. His goal was to find the same peace he felt when sitting with Dad Rudi at Lake Kenanga. Here, that place was called Moon Lake.
He covered the two-kilometer distance on foot. He let his feet tread upon the asphalt that was beginning to warp from the heat. Moon Lake was still quiet, largely untouched by development. The water was calm, reflecting a cloudless blue sky.
Thomas walked along the edge of the lake until he found a spot under a large, lush banyan tree. He lay his body down against the protruding roots, leaning back and slowly closing his eyes.
I understand what Dad Rudi said, he thought. I know what I have to do.
The sound of the wind hissing through the leaves seemed to whisper the word "honesty" over and over. However, the image of a dying Dimas reappeared.
But then again, the fact that I destroyed someone else's life is too difficult to accept. I know I have to be honest and sincerely apologize. But seeing Dimas and his parents so broken yesterday... it pulls me back into the darkness.
Thomas gripped his head, burying his face between his knees. His body shook slightly. Tears fell one by one, soaking into the denim of his jeans. Under that tree, in the middle of the lake's silence, he felt truly alone in the world.
A few hours later, Thomas decided to head home. The sun was no longer directly overhead as he walked along the path on the edge of town. At a quiet bend in the road, he stopped in his tracks.
Three elementary school children were bullying one of their peers. The poor boy was sitting on the side of the road, his face haggard, while the other children crowded around him, hurling insults and occasionally kicking his legs.
"Hey, stop it!!" Thomas shouted. His voice cracked, filled with suppressed rage.
"Run!! Someone's coming!" the children scattered, leaving dust flying in their wake.
Thomas ran closer. The boy was cleaning his dirty knees without daring to look up.
"Are you okay?" Thomas asked, reaching out a hand.
The boy slowly raised his head. His face was puffy, marked by tear streaks mixed with road dust.
"I'm okay," the boy said softly, taking Thomas's hand to stand up.
Seeing the pure pain in the boy's eyes, Thomas felt his chest tighten. Memories of Dimas and the middle school friends he used to look down on came rushing back. Why, Thomas? Why couldn't you see pain this clearly back then? Why were you the one who created this look in others' eyes?
"Thank you for helping me," the boy said again.
Thomas stared at him intensely. He wanted to give advice. He wanted to say something so this boy could defend himself, so he could be free from those bullies forever. But his tongue was tied. He realized one thing: he didn't have the answer. He didn't know how to save someone from the darkness he had once created himself. Thomas could only remain silent, staring at the boy with a hollow gaze.
"You're welcome," Thomas replied briefly.
The boy walked away, his back small and looking fragile. Thomas stood still, watching that back until it disappeared at the crossroads. He felt he should have helped more, but he was completely stuck.
***
At exactly half-past four in the afternoon, Thomas arrived home. The front porch was full of the neighbors' laundry swaying in the wind, spreading the sharp, floral scent of detergent. As soon as he entered, he was greeted by Eben's wide laugh.
"Hi Thomas!" Eben exclaimed, jogging over to him and shaking Thomas's hand with overflowing excitement.
"You're finally home!" Eben shook Thomas's hand vigorously. "Our room feels so empty without you!"
"Yeah, Ben," Thomas answered flatly, trying to pull his hand away. He sat on a wooden chair in the living room, followed by Eben, who was still enthusiastic.
"How is Jakarta? They say there are many big buildings and cool places, right?" Eben asked, his eyes shining with sincerity. Mom came out of the kitchen and sat down too.
"Yeah, a lot, but I haven't explored much yet," Thomas replied expressionlessly.
"Wow, what a waste, Thomas!" Mom chimed in.
"Yeah, Thomas, it's such a shame," Eben added.
"Besides, I don't like going out, Ben, so it's fine."
Eben leaned forward, his voice rising a pitch in excitement. "What about your classes? Your grades must be great, right? You're so smart!"
"Not really, Ben, but basically no failing grades," Thomas answered.
"Oh right, your Dad is coming home soon," Mom interrupted the conversation. "Don't go out again; he wants to ask a lot of things about your university."
"Yes, Mom."
Thomas felt irritated by Eben's innocent cheerfulness. He tried to change the subject. "Aren't you working, Ben?"
"Oh, I already worked today! Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday I work morning until afternoon. Other days, I work afternoon until night," Eben explained proudly, as if his job as a dishwasher was a grand achievement. "I like my job, just washing dishes."
Thomas just stayed silent, offering no response. Soon, the familiar roar of a motorcycle was heard outside. It was Dad's bike. Thomas remained seated with a hollow feeling.
Dad entered with a firm stride, bringing a strong scent of sweat and factory oil. His eyes lit up the moment he saw Thomas. There was an aura of overflowing joy—but not the joy of a father who missed his son, rather the joy of someone who had just won a trophy to show off.
"Please get me some water," Dad asked Eben without looking. Eben immediately ran to the kitchen. Dad sat in front of Thomas with a very bright, wide smile.
"Thomas! Well? The people in Jakarta must have been shocked to see a boy from this small town get into that number-one campus, right?" Dad asked in a loud voice, as if speaking to a large audience.
"It's just normal, Dad," Thomas answered shortly.
"Just normal? How?" Dad laughed briefly. "You are a UI student! All my friends at the factory are amazed by you." His voice was thick with the energy of pride that craved recognition. He slapped his own knee, then turned toward the kitchen. "Ben! Look at your brother. He's cool, isn't he?" he said with a wide smile. "If you could be like him, I would be even prouder."
Eben returned with a glass of water. He smiled broadly, his eyes shining too. "Yes, Dad. Thomas is indeed cool," he said lightly, without hesitation.
Dad took the glass and gulped it down quickly, as if impatient to continue. "Your grades are safe, right?" he continued. "You have to be one of the best there."
"Yes, Dad. Safe. No failing marks," Thomas answered.
Mom nodded slowly, but her brow furrowed deeper.
"If so, then things are still on track," she said cautiously. "About the scholarship."
Dad turned immediately. "Yes. What we've hoped for from the start."
Thomas took a short breath. "I've applied. But the announcement isn't until the final semester of the second year."
Mom's face grew tense. "Well, that's what I've been thinking about," she said softly. "How do we pay for this semester? The scholarship hasn't come through yet."
Dad leaned in too; his tone was still full of confidence, but now sharper. "It should be fine, right? With your grades."
"In terms of chances, yes," Thomas said flatly. "Looking at our economic condition and my grades, it's very likely I'll be accepted."
"But 'very likely' doesn't mean 'now'," Mom countered quickly. "The money still has to be there first, Thomas."
"It's no problem!" Dad interrupted in a high, spirited tone. "We'll borrow from Uncle Ryan again. This is just temporary until the scholarship comes in."
"But, Dad... how do we pay him back?" Mom asked quietly. "Last year we struggled just to make the installments."
Eben suddenly spoke up, firm and innocent. "I can help by finding another job! After washing dishes, I can look for extra work at the market!"
"But what if you don't find any?" Mom asked hesitantly.
"Don't worry, Mom, Eben will definitely find something!" Eben exclaimed, smiling toward Thomas.
"That's right! We have to be optimistic!" Dad patted Eben's shoulder, yet his eyes remained fixed on Thomas. "We have to do whatever it takes to keep Thomas there. This is for our family's reputation!"
Thomas listened to the debate with a blank stare. He didn't feel moved by Eben's sacrifice or his father's ambition. To him, all of this felt suffocating.
"I'll also set aside more time to work as a motorcycle taxi driver in Jakarta, so it should be fine, Mom," Thomas said coldly.
He just wanted this conversation to end. He wanted to go back to his room.