Chapter Text
Petir rounded the corner and nearly collided with Tanah, who was leaning casually against the wall.
“Move,” he said flatly, trying to step around his brother.
But Tanah didn’t budge. He stayed rooted in place, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Letting out an irritated sigh, he gave Petir a side glance, his tone laced with something unspoken. “Tok Aba wants you at the shop.”
Petir blinked, his expression unreadable as he waited for more explanation. The look in Tanah’s eyes, however, didn’t convince him. Something about it felt... off. “Sure,” he replied, his voice as detached as always.
“You don’t believe me?” Tanah’s voice rose slightly, though it sounded more like a tired statement than an accusation.
Petir didn’t bother answering. He had no intention of standing here longer than necessary, wasting his time on anyone—especially not Tanah. Without a word, he brushed past him.
Their shoulders nearly collided, but just as they were parallel, Tanah muttered, “Must be nice to be you.”
The words stopped Petir in his tracks, his head tilting slightly, irritation flickering across his face.
“Letting go of everything,” Tanah continued, his tone sharper now but quieter, almost subdued.
For a moment, Petir considered walking away. He should walk away. But something about the way Tanah spoke, the undercurrent of something more, made him pause. His younger brother was always brash, quick to throw a punch if things got heated. But now? Now, Tanah’s voice carried something heavier—something unfamiliar.
Petir’s brow furrowed slightly as he studied him, though he kept his expression cold. The house had been unusually quiet lately. The endless bickering between Api and Tanah, a constant noise in their lives, had been conspicuously absent. And now this?
“Whatever. Just go to Tok Aba.”
Tanah’s voice was quieter this time, softer, as if he’d lost whatever fight he’d been gearing up for. He turned abruptly, heading back into the house without looking back.
Petir stayed where he was, his gaze lingering on the empty space Tanah had left behind. Something in his chest felt tight, unsettled, but he pushed it down.
Taking a deep breath, he turned back toward the path ahead. Not my problem.
The mantra echoed in his head as he resumed walking. But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, the unease lingered, refusing to be ignored.
Petir swore he didn’t come to Kokotiam just because Tanah told him to.
Taking his place behind the counter, he quickly immersed himself in the rhythm of the shop, helping with orders and serving customers. His hands moved with practiced, blending drinks and passing them along with barely a word.
It was easier this way—keeping his head down, avoiding Tok Aba’s curious glances, pretending the concern in the elder’s eyes didn’t exist.
Daun occasionally called out for help during the peak hours, and though Petir never responded verbally, he always followed through. Actions spoke louder than words, or so he told himself.
But even as he moved through the motions, he couldn’t shake the haze clouding his thoughts.
He wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Yet, he wasn’t so far gone that he’d ignore the elders entirely. Maybe, just maybe, there was still that part of him—the part that cared enough to do the right thing.
“The kindness in you hasn’t left yet, huh?” He shoved the thought away as a familiar voice rang out, cutting through his internal monologue.
“Two Tok Aba Special Hot Chocolates, please!”
Petir didn’t need to look up to recognize that voice. A small frown tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t quite reach his face. “Make sure to pay this time,” Tok Aba said, deadpan, as he handed the drinks over.
“Hehe, I will… when it snows in Malaysia!” Gopal’s cheerful reply earned an eye-roll from both Tok Aba and Petir.
Petir walked over to deliver the drinks, placing them on the table with little fanfare. He was halfway through turning back to the counter when the voice called after him again.
“Hey, Petir!”
He sighed, glancing over his shoulder. “What, Gopal? Can’t you see I’m working?”
Gopal leaned forward, lowering his voice and gesturing for Petir to come closer. His eyes darted suspiciously around the shop, scanning their surroundings.
“What now?” Petir asked, already annoyed. He followed Gopal’s gaze and noted that the shop was almost empty. Tok Aba and Daun were busy tidying up, leaving only a few chairs scattered with dishes.
“Come on, lah, just listen for a sec.”
Petir suppressed another sigh and crouched down slightly, just enough to hear Gopal without drawing Tok Aba’s attention. “Spit it out. What is it?”
“It’s about Tanah,” Gopal whispered, his tone unusually serious.
Petir blinked. He hadn’t expected that. His face remained neutral, but something about the way Gopal said the name made him pause.
“No,” he replied curtly, straightening up to leave.
But before he could get far, Gopal grabbed his arm and yanked him back down. Now both of them were crouched under the table, Gopal looking completely unbothered by the absurdity of their situation.
“Seriously?” Petir hissed. “What do you want?”
“Dey! I’m trying to tell you about Tanah lah!”
“So what?” Petir snapped, rolling his eyes. He tried to stand again, but Gopal’s grip on his arm tightened.
“Oi, you can’t just brush this off!” Gopal’s tone was insistent now, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more serious.
Petir’s annoyance flared, but beneath it, there was a flicker of curiosity. Gopal wouldn’t drag him into this if it weren’t important. Still, he resisted the urge to care.
Tanah wasn’t his problem. Not anymore.
Right?
“I heard it from a friend in Class C, who heard it from someone in Class A, and then from—”
“What is it!?” Petir snapped, teeth gritted. The last thing he wanted was to get tangled up in his brothers’ messes. Not when he was painfully aware of how hard it was to stop himself from... caring.
Gopal cleared his throat, his usual confidence faltering as hesitation crept into his face.
There was a rare flicker of concern in his eyes, though, something that caught Petir’s attention despite himself.
“I tried to tell Angin about this,” Gopal said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but he brushed me off before I could say anything.” He licked his lips, pausing before continuing. “Then I thought about telling Api, but… after whatever happened to him last week, I figured that wasn’t the best idea.”
Petir’s brow furrowed slightly at the mention of Api.
He had overheard bits and pieces about some incident involving Api and Tanah but never cared enough to dig deeper. And even now, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“How about Air, then?” Petir suggested with a flat, disinterested tone. His face practically screamed that he wanted nothing to do with this conversation.
Gopal finally let go of Petir’s arm, sighing as he plopped down onto the patch of grass beside them. “Air’s been too busy lately. I haven’t even seen him around.”
That caught Petir off guard, though he kept his expression carefully neutral. He didn’t keep tabs on his brothers or their routines, but hearing that Air had been unusually absent did plant a seed of curiosity.
“Daun? I’m not sure about him. Cahaya? Out of the question.” Gopal muttered as though he were working through a checklist, his words more for himself than for Petir.
Finally, Gopal looked back at him, smirking as if he’d just solved a complicated puzzle. “Which leaves only one option... you.”
Petir glared at him, the frown on his face deepening. “Absolutely not.”
“Please! Just hear me out,” Gopal begged, clinging tightly to Petir’s waist like a child refusing to let go of their favorite toy.
“I said no!” Petir growled, trying to pry the boy’s arms off him. “Let me go, Gopal!”
“It’s not like I’m asking you to help him or anything,” Gopal hissed, his voice low as he glanced around to make sure no one was watching. “I just… I can’t keep this to myself!”
Petir groaned internally, every fiber of his being screaming at him to walk away. He didn’t want to care. He didn’t care! But no matter how much he struggled, Gopal’s grip stayed firm, and his persistence was grating on Petir’s already thin patience.
Just as Petir was about to give in to the temptation of kicking Gopal off him, the boy blurted out, “He’s being bullied!”
That made Petir freeze in place.
For a moment, the words hung in the air, but instead of the expected concern, suspicion flickered in his eyes. “Are you sure it’s not the other way around?”
“What?” Gopal blinked, visibly confused by the question.
Petir rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. “I’m asking if you’re sure Tanah isn’t the one doing the bullying.”
The doubt in his voice was as sharp as ever, but Gopal’s stunned expression only deepened.
Finally, Gopal released Petir, his grip loosening as he stepped back. Petir straightened up, brushing dirt off his pants with sharp, deliberate movements. Gopal followed, though his stunned expression began to morph into a frown, the disbelief lingering in his gaze.
“We’re talking about your brother , Tanah?” Gopal asked, his voice tinged with incredulity.
“Yeah, I heard,” Petir replied curtly, his tone dismissive.
The casual answer deepened Gopal’s frown. “I’ve heard bits and pieces about your… relationship, but I never thought—”
“I’m not accusing him of anything,” Petir cut him off, his voice carrying a firmer edge now. “But let’s not pretend his record isn’t as bad as everyone says.” He crossed his arms, his posture rigid. “So just spit it out already.”
“He’s still your brother,” Gopal said, the words more of a reminder than an argument.
“And?”
The single word landed like a slap, and Gopal’s eyes widened in shock, his breath catching as he tried to process what he’d just heard. For a moment, it was as though he couldn’t comprehend the cold detachment in Petir’s voice.
"Aren't you worried if it's true?" Gopal's voice softened, but the weight of his question hung heavily in the air.
Petir didn’t answer. The question pierced through the walls he’d built, striking a place he didn’t want to acknowledge. The familiar, unwelcome feeling churned in his chest—one he was desperate to ignore.
"Well?" Gopal pressed, his tone a mix of hesitation and concern.
Petir’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. Why did such a simple question feel so suffocating? It wasn’t supposed to matter. None of this was.
He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair as if trying to shake off the unease creeping over him. The tension in the air was impossible to miss, and Gopal’s sharp eyes didn’t fail to catch it.
“Fine,” Gopal muttered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I get it.”
Without another word, he took a step back, sensing it was better to leave before the unspoken weight between them grew any heavier.
“Is there something on your mind, Petir?” Tok Aba’s gentle voice broke the silence, pulling him from his thoughts.
He glanced around. The shop was already closed, its warmth replaced by the quiet hum of the night. Even Daun had gone home, leaving only him and Tok Aba behind.
Petir shook his head. The movement was small, almost automatic, but hesitant enough for Tok Aba to notice. The elder didn’t push, merely offering a knowing hum.
“Are you thinking about them?”
The question made his chest tighten. Of course, he knew who Tok Aba meant. His siblings. His brothers. But the thought sent a flicker of irritation through him—directed at himself more than anything. He bit his lower lip, the frustration simmering. Was he thinking about them? He doubted it. He didn’t want to.
The streets were quiet as they walked toward home, the orange glow of streetlights casting long shadows. Petir’s footsteps fell heavier than usual, weighed down by things he didn’t want to admit were bothering him.
“Things might be hard right now,” Tok Aba said softly, his voice steady but filled with quiet conviction. “But I believe it will get better. I believe in all of you, my grandson.”
Petir’s breath hitched slightly, though he masked it well. The words cut through the layers of anger and detachment he tried so hard to hold onto. There was pride in Tok Aba’s voice—a warmth that Petir wasn’t sure he deserved.
“You are a good brother, Petir.”
Good. Was he? The words twisted something inside him, pulling at a place he’d rather leave untouched. He swallowed hard, his frown deepening.
He didn’t know what to feel about that.
Tok Aba’s words lingered long after they reached the house, echoing in the silence of the night. They weren’t accusations or commands—just quiet belief. But that made them harder to shake off.
Petir didn’t sleep that night, staring at the ceiling as Tok Aba’s voice played on repeat in his head. Good brother . Did he even know how to be one anymore?
The question resurfaced when he returned home with Cahaya.
The youngest went straight to their shared bedroom without a word, leaving Petir alone in the dimly lit hallway. His footsteps slowed as he passed the bathroom, his eyes catching the slight gap in the door.
It was open just enough for him to see Tanah.
Petir froze. His brother hadn’t noticed him, too caught up in his reflection in the mirror. There was something off—something that made Petir’s chest tighten despite himself.
Tanah stood hunched over the sink, his face etched with a pain Petir didn’t recognize.
He was gripping his elbow tightly, his knuckles white against his tanned skin. Petir’s gaze lowered, catching a glimpse of red beneath the rolled-up sleeve. A patch of raw, irritated skin peeked through, and his heart sank despite his resolve.
He must’ve gotten into a fight again. That was the first thought that hit him, sharp and certain.
It wasn’t Gopal’s warnings or concern about bullying—it was frustration. This was just another one of those moments, wasn’t it? One of those reckless decisions Tanah always made, dragging himself into trouble and expecting the world to fix it.
Petir hated how much he wanted to turn away.
But he couldn’t—not yet.
From the slight gap, he could see Tanah bite his lower lip, his eyes squeezed shut. The tough facade his brother always wore was cracked, and for a brief moment, Petir saw someone else entirely.
Someone he wasn’t used to seeing.
A part of him—a loud, insistent part—screamed that this wasn’t his problem. That Tanah had brought this upon himself, and it wasn’t worth the effort to care. But that same stubborn voice faltered when he remembered the look in his brother’s eyes.
Something stirred inside him.
Damn it.
Clenching his fists, Petir forced himself to straighten up. The tension in his shoulders refused to ease, but he steeled himself anyway. He was not getting involved.
Without another glance, he turned away and headed for his room. Yet no matter how far he walked, the image of Tanah’s pain lingered, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.
He tried to push it away, to remind himself it wasn’t his business. But the more he tried, the harder it was to ignore.
Then, it happened on an ordinary afternoon.
Petir had been tasked by his teacher to return the sports equipment to the storage room at the back of the school. He didn’t mind the chore—it gave him an excuse to skip the monotony of class.
But as he turned the corner, he stopped in his tracks.
Tanah was there, sitting slumped against the wall.
Petir’s first instinct was to turn around and leave, pretend he hadn’t seen anything. He didn’t want to deal with this—whatever it was. But then, as if summoned from the depths of his mind, Tok Aba’s voice echoed in his head:
"You are a good brother, Petir."
His chest tightened. Before he realized it, his feet were carrying him closer.
Tanah looked up at the sound of his footsteps. A faint scowl crossed his bruised and bloodied face, his nose streaked red. He didn’t speak, just wiped the blood away with the back of his wrist.
The gesture was as defiant as it was dismissive, and Petir couldn’t help but feel a pang of irritation.
What had he gotten himself into this time?
Masking his emotions, Petir kept his face neutral, calm, and flat. His indifference didn’t seem to faze Tanah, who began pushing himself upright. But Petir noticed the slight wince and the way his brother’s weight shifted unsteadily.
Tanah tried to stand tall, his sprained ankle betraying him with a sharp tremble. He faltered and nearly fell back to the ground.
Petir froze.
For a moment, the air between them was heavy with unspoken words. He felt an overwhelming urge to step forward and help, to ease Tanah’s struggle, but his legs wouldn’t move. He was rooted to the spot, caught between instinct and pride.
His gaze locked on Tanah’s, the faint vulnerability in his brother’s eyes hidden behind a glare.
This isn’t my problem.
That thought repeated in his head like a mantra, louder each time, trying to drown out the part of him that wanted to care. His fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightened—but he stayed where he was.
Tanah, too proud to ask for help, simply steadied himself against the wall.
Neither of them said a word.
Tanah suddenly laughed—a hollow, empty sound that echoed faintly against the walls. “Why are you even here?” he asked, his voice teetering between anger and despair.
Petir opened his mouth but couldn’t form an answer.
“I…” His voice faltered, and he stopped. What was he doing here? He didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t sound like a lie.
Tanah’s laugh died into a shaky breath, his gaze dropping to the ground.
Then, slowly, Petir noticed it—the tears. They weren’t obvious at first, just faint trails glinting in the dim light. But there they were.
Petir’s heart twisted in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge.
He watched as Tanah clenched his jaw, his entire face taut with the effort to suppress his emotions. It was clear—Tanah didn’t want to be seen like this. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this.
Yet, Petir stayed rooted to the spot, unmoving and expressionless.
Tanah’s shoulders trembled, just for a moment, before he straightened as much as his injured ankle would allow. He wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand, forcing the tears away with the same defiance he had wiped the blood from his nose earlier.
Eyes flickered up to meet Petir’s, a flicker of something—was it anger? Or pain?—in his gaze.
His lips twisted into a bitter smile as he spoke again, quieter this time, the words dragging out like something too painful to say.
“You know,” Tanah’s voice cracked, “I get bullied. Even way back then.” He paused, the last words heavy with something unspoken, something that Petir couldn’t fully comprehend yet.
Petir felt the words crash into him like a wave, an unexpected shock that had his chest tightening. His mind was racing now, trying to process what Tanah had just said. Tanah was bullied? Even back then?
It felt like the world had tilted under his feet, and he couldn’t understand why, but it felt... important.
Tanah looked away, a sharp intake of breath betraying his attempt at hiding his emotions. He was trying so hard not to break, but Petir could see the cracks. Tanah wiped his face again, this time more forcefully, as if to erase the weakness.
Petir didn’t move, didn’t speak.
He didn’t want to get involved. His mind screamed at him to stay out of it, to walk away, but something held him rooted in place. It’s not my problem , he told himself.
“I don’t know why I thought…” Tanah’s voice cracked, and he quickly cut himself off.
His hands balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white with the tension. He took a breath and forced out words that were bitter and sharp. “Forget it. You don’t care. You never do.”
Petir didn’t respond.
The silence between them stretched on, heavy and suffocating. Tanah stared at him, searching for something in his face—a sign, a word, anything. But all he saw was the same neutral, distant expression Petir always wore.
It was all the confirmation Tanah needed. His lips curled into a faint, bitter smirk as he shook his head. “Just like I thought,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and strained.
Tanah, despite his obvious struggle, lifted his head, eyes burning with frustration, and gave Petir one last look—so full of bitterness and disappointment. Without saying another word, he limped away, every step seeming to echo in Petir’s chest.
Petir remained frozen, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as he watched Tanah’s retreating figure.
Something inside him screamed to move, to call out, to do something. But instead, he stayed still, silent, and motionless, letting Tanah walk away.
He told himself it was better this way. That it wasn’t his problem. That he didn’t care.
But the hollow ache in his chest said otherwise.