"Dis, are you really not coming with us?" Alya double-checked my participation in the upcoming trip with our housemates next weekend.
"Can't. I've got a job manning a bazaar stand," I replied indifferently, my fingers fiddling with my glitchy laptop.
"Please, Dis. You're not coming again? If you're not there, who's going to watch over me?"
Alya wrapped her arms around my neck in a dramatic pout. I had no choice but to turn around and brush her hands away—they were blocking my view.
"Yeah, please, I'm not your bodyguard!" I said, turning back to the screen, still unable to figure out what was wrong with this cursed laptop.
"I'll pay for you. How about that?" Alya offered, hesitant but hopeful. Her offer made me lose any remaining interest in fixing the laptop. I stuffed it into my daypack, trying to walk away and end the conversation. But her hand caught the edge of my sleeve first.
"Dis," she whispered my name, stopping me. I turned around, wearing my classic don't-push-it look.
"Sorry. I'm not," Alya muttered.
"That's enough. I'll let it go this time," I said, not wanting to drag this out any longer. Besides, I had to head to class—I was assisting in a lab session for the new students. I could see regret written all over Alya's face as I walked away. I didn't mean to guilt her. I just needed her to know not to cross certain lines.
Alya was my roommate. Different major, different world—she studied literature. And for some reason, she seemed to need me for every little thing. From grocery shopping to midnight bathroom trips, it was always "Dis, Dis." Sometimes I felt more like her babysitter than her roommate. Thankfully, we were in different faculties. Otherwise, I might as well have been her full-time caretaker.
But Alya never overstepped too far. She understood what I stood for, what I didn't like. Maybe she was just desperate earlier and slipped.
We'd been roommates for a year now. She was one year below me, while my old roommate had been a year ahead. As soon as the previous one graduated, Alya moved in. In the beginning, she called me "Kak," but at some point, she stopped. I never corrected her. I didn't care for titles or formality.
The lab session went long. First day of the semester, there was a lot to cover.
I was the only female lab assistant this year. My department—and faculty, in general—was male-dominated. If there were girls, they were often students, rarely assistants. Being one of the few women, I often sensed the doubt in people's eyes. The "What does a girl know about this stuff?" kind of glance during Q&As or hands-on practices.
But being a lab assistant wasn't easy. It required a rigorous selection process. Only the best—handpicked by professors—were chosen. That badge alone was enough to silence most doubters. It was living proof that gender didn't dictate capability.
An hour and a half later, class was over. A freshman walked up to me.
"Excuse me, Kak. Can I ask something?" he said, eyes darting shyly toward mine. I was cleaning up the scattered tools, but I nodded politely. He seemed flustered by my response, and I wasn't sure why.
"I wanted to ask where I can buy a jumper like yours?"
Ah. I was getting used to this trick—pretending to ask something trivial just to start a conversation.
"Try Matrial," answered Ujo, who appeared out of nowhere behind the boy. The freshman looked startled and quickly stepped aside.
Ujo was like a silent guardian, always somehow appearing when some guy got too flirty. I didn't know how, but he always seemed to be there.
"Someone's looking for you," Ujo said, helping me tidy up.
"Who?" I asked casually.
"An angel," he grinned. Ujo, who once confessed his feelings for me, had now moved on—his "angel" was none other than Alya.
I admired Ujo. Of all the guys I had turned down, he was the only one who remained unbothered. He treated me the same, as if the storm of that confession never happened.
He'd been with me since our first year—classmates, lab partners, everything. We even became assistants together. I still remember the night he came to my boarding house in the rain. Alya hadn't moved in yet. Soaked and trembling, he held my hands and poured his heart out.
But I had no room for love. I didn't even know what love meant. I was too busy just trying to live. And Ujo understood. He never forced anything.
The next day, he was back to his usual self. It was as if that rainy night had been a scene in a comedy skit. He even joked about it openly—calling me his first love or his unrequited crush.
"Thanks, Kak Ujo," Alya said sweetly. She had been waiting for me near the faculty garden with Davi. Probably afraid of being approached by random guys. The three of us—me, Ujo, and Davi—were like the wheels of a tuk-tuk. Always moving together. Most of my freelance jobs came through Davi. His sister, Rena, was a big name in the city's event organizing world. In fact, I had a job from her this weekend.
"You're welcome, little Alya," Ujo said with his fake charm.
Alya glanced at me, checking to see if I was still upset. But honestly, I wasn't. I tugged at her hand and led her away from the lab. There were too many eyes there, and I hated attention—especially when the source was Alya's fashion model aura. She looked like she belonged in a magazine, not a university.
We headed to a quieter place—the education faculty's canteen. Davi and Ujo trailed behind us. I turned around and told them to stay back.
"But we're hungry too, Dis," they whined.
"Then go eat somewhere else," I snapped.
They pouted, but finally walked off.
Soon, we found a table.
"What do you want to eat? I'll order for you," I offered.
Alya just asked for a drink—she was on a diet. Meanwhile, I ordered spicy stir-fried rice.
"Is it good?" she asked, clearly tempted. I handed her my plate. She refused at first, then gave in after a few minutes.
"Why were you looking for me? I told you, just PM me if you need anything," I said as I finished my meal.
"I did PM you. But you didn't read it," she pouted. "I was afraid you were really mad. If you're mad, who's going to walk me to the toilet at night?"
I checked my phone—it was dead. Must've died right after she sent the message.
"I told you I'd try to understand," I said, sipping the last of my iced tea.
"You said 'try.' That's so vague—I didn't know if you were mad or not," she argued.
"Oh, Alya. I'm not mad, okay? Happy now?"
"Good. Then come with me to the movies."
"No way, unless you're paying."
"I'm not paying! I got free tickets from this app," she said quickly, worried I'd back out again. I chuckled and nodded.
"What time's the show?" I asked.
"Three."
"You're crazy—it's 2:30 now, and we need 45 minutes by angkot. Wait at the parking lot. I'll borrow Davi's motorbike."
We arrived five minutes before the movie started—thankfully, traffic was clear.
It was a Korean film about a housewife who had to quit her job for her family. Life seemed normal at first. But eventually, she started yearning for the days when she didn't have to depend on anyone. She wanted her life back. Luckily, her husband supported her.
"That's why I think life's kind of shit," I muttered afterward. "You know, Korean parents aren't so different from ours. Asian parents in general. I get why the mom regretted how the dad only cared about the son. When their daughter had a mental breakdown, and the son asked what her favorite food was, the dad answered wrong—he named the son's favorite food instead. Why are boys always the favored ones? What's so wrong about being a girl?"
Alya squeezed my hand gently, trying to calm me down. Once I got started on gender issues, it was hard to stop. The injustice always boiled in me.
After the movie, Alya dragged me around the mall. She said it was a rare moment—getting me out like this. Normally, I'd never agree. Most of my friends were guys, and they weren't exactly mall people. They preferred gaming cafes or futsal courts. And me? I preferred swimming, being in the lab, the library—or just sleeping in my dorm.