Alam was on his way to his first class for the morning, the campus still waking beneath the pale glow of sunrise. The sky was streaked with orange and violet, and the air carried a crisp chill that nipped at his skin. His club foot tapped against the concrete path, each step echoing faintly in the open space. Birds stirred in the trees overhead, their calls sharp against the hush of dawn.
A shadow fell across his path as another student stepped forward, blocking the light. The boy's breath misted in the cold air, and his sneakers scraped against the concrete.
"Hey, you're Alamm, right?" the student asked, voice carrying easily in the open courtyard.
"Yes," Alam replied, cautiously.
"The Dean wants to see you in her office right away," the student said, eyes flicking toward the looming silhouette of the Academy's main building, its windows catching the sunrise in fractured gleams.
Alam's stomach tightened. He muttered under his breath, "This can't be good."
The wind stirred through the trees, rustling leaves as if to agree.
The metronome clicked steadily in the Dean's office, each swing slicing the silence like a blade. The air inside was heavy, tinged with the musk of old varnish and dust. Alam sat stiff in the same iron chair, its cold frame biting against his palms, the hyena mask's grin looming above him, hollow eyes glinting faintly in the dim light.
Dean Chinyama's voice was velvet and cold. "Mister Lestari, your student bills haven't been paid."
Alam swallowed hard, his throat dry, gaze flicking to the rusted iron door. It was quiet this time — no claws, no snarls — only the ticking clock and the metronome's merciless rhythm.
"Your stepmother has made it clear she has no intention of paying them," the Dean continued, spectacles flashing with each click.
"Am I being kicked out?" Alam asked.
A long, uncomfortable pause filled the room, the metronome's click echoing louder in the silence.
Finally, the Dean's voice broke through. "If you wish to remain here, you'll work as a janitor. Unfortunately, the servant's building is at capacity."
"What does that mean?" Alam asked, his voice trembling.
Another long pause. The clock ticked, the metronome swung, and the hyena mask seemed to grin wider.
"You'll need to stay in the attic."
"What? How am I supposed to walk up and down all those stairs with my foot?"
"That's not my problem, Mister Lestari. You're being given a gift, don't waste it," she said.
"But—"
"You're dismissed," she said flatly, her tone snapping like a gavel.
Alam began walking to the door, the iron chair groaning as he rose.
"Oh, and, Mister Lestari…"
Alam paused and turned back to her.
"If you make even one mistake… you're gone."
Alam's chest tightened. He tried to speak, but his voice faltered, swallowed by the ticking clock.
He stepped into the hallway, the air cooler and lighter than the suffocating office. Cindy walked by, chatting with Rita, their voices bright and cheerful, echoing against the stone walls. They hadn't noticed Alam.
"Oh, shoot. I forgot I was supposed to meet up with my brother at the basketball courts. I'll see you later," Rita said to Cindy.
"No problem, I'll see you later," they exchanged a quick hug goodbye, perfume and shampoo scents mingling briefly in the air.
"Hey, Cindy!" Alam said, grabbing Cindy's attention.
"Hey, Handsome!" Cindy replied enthusiastically, her voice warm and musical.
"I saw you chatting with Rita! I wanted to say hello to her before she bolted, but I didn't want to interrupt," Alam said.
"Oh, you met Rita? Isn't she a gem?!"
"Yeah, we met in Film Theory."
"Her dad's a funny guy, isn't he?!" she said with a huge smile.
"The funniest," Alam said, recalling all his outbursts while sleeping.
"So, how's it going today?" Cindy asked him.
"Pretty bad actually."
"Oh, no, what happened?!"
"Just dumb family stuff," Alam said. "You mind if I use your phone to call my mom?" he asked.
"Sure, go ahead," she handed him her phone. The plastic case was warm from her hand, faintly scuffed from use.
He dialed the number only to be greeted with an automated error message:
We're sorry, the number you've dialed is no longer in service.
The hollow tone buzzed in his ear, metallic and final. Alam sighed and handed Cindy back her phone, his hand trembling as he passed it to her, fingers brushing the warm plastic case before letting go.
"Thanks anyway," he said softly, his fingers lingering briefly on the cool surface before letting go.
"Hey, cheer up!" she said, her tone bright, almost singing. "I'm sure whatever's going on, things will get better!"
"You think so?" Alam said, despair clinging to his voice like a shadow.
"Of course, we all go through ups and downs. The important thing is remembering the ups are inevitable."
"Thanks, Cindy. I really needed to hear that," Alam said before sulking away, his footsteps dragging against the stone floor, echoing faintly as the corridor swallowed him.