Budak Sekolah Tunjuk Burit -

Aina thought about it. The question felt like a stone dropped into a deep well. She could hear her mother's voice: "You have everything here. Our family. Our food. Our way of life." She could hear her father's voice: "Opportunities abroad are better. You must think globally."

At recess, the canteen was a symphony of chaos. The roti canai stall had a line twenty kids deep. The nasi goreng was already sold out. Aina bought two karipap (curry puffs) for RM1 and a packet of milo ais for RM1.50. She sat on a concrete bench, watching the world swirl around her. Budak Sekolah Tunjuk Burit

Aina walked home with Li Qin. The rain had stopped. The sun was fierce now, drying the pavement in patches. They passed the mosque, the Chinese temple, the little Hindu shrine tucked between two shoplots. A familiar sound drifted from an open window – someone practicing the piano. Chopin. Aina recognized it from her own piano lessons, which she had quit three years ago because there was no time. Aina thought about it

"See you. Don't forget – Add Maths tuition." Our family

The girls filed out, tucking away their phones, adjusting their uniforms – the standard blue pinafore for girls, white shirt and green shorts for boys, though most boys wore long pants now. The corridors filled with the sound of laughter, groans about homework, and the shuffle of hundreds of shoes.