That morning, the rooster's crowing still hadn't ended when Arsen was already standing in front of the house, gazing at his little bike.
The bike looked small compared with the other children's bikes in the neighborhood. Its wheels weren't big, the frame was covered in scratches, and its blue paint was beginning to fade. A little basket was mounted crookedly on the front. The bell was old, too. When he pressed it, it didn't make a bright ring-ring sound. Instead, it made a tiny noise like someone coughing.
Arsen squatted down to inspect the chain.
"Don't come off again, okay?" he muttered.
He had just started to stand when his mother's voice came from inside the house.
"Arsen! Eat breakfast first!"
"Okay, Mom!"
Arsen patted the bike's saddle before going inside. He actually wanted to leave for school right away, but when it came to his mother, arguing was pointless. Five minutes later, he came back out carrying bread wrapped in paper.
"You can eat it on the way, but don't speed," his mother said.
"I never speed."
His mother raised an eyebrow.
"Who was it that almost went into the drainage ditch yesterday?"
Arsen immediately fell silent.
"That was because a cat was crossing."
"Did the cat make it?"
"It did."
"Then the only one who almost got hurt was you."
Arsen chuckled and climbed onto his bike.
The neighborhood lane was still quiet. A few people were just opening their doors. Mr. Wawan was sweeping his yard, while Ms. Sari was hanging laundry in front of her house. The morning air was cold, and the road was still slightly wet from last night's rain.
Just as he reached the end of the alley, Arsen saw someone standing beneath a mango tree.
"Sen!"
Arsen hit the brakes.
Raka ran over, carrying a bag with only one strap still attached.
"What took you so long?"
"I had to eat breakfast."
"Five whole minutes?"
"If I don't eat breakfast, I won't be the only one who faints. The gym teacher might get dizzy too."
Raka laughed.
"Your excuses are getting weirder."
They set off together. Raka rode a black bike that was much bigger. Every time the road sloped downhill, he always sped ahead.
"Race you to Ms. Yuni's corner shop!" Raka shouted.
"No way."
"Scared you'll lose?"
Arsen immediately pedaled faster.
"That's more like it!"
The two of them sped down the narrow road. Raka laughed as he stayed out in front. Arsen tried to catch up, but his little bike simply couldn't go as fast as Raka's.
When they were almost at the corner shop, Arsen's bike chain suddenly made a loud noise.
Crack!
The pedals instantly became hard to turn.
"Uh-oh!"
Arsen braked and got off.
Raka stopped a few yards ahead.
"It came off again?"
Arsen inspected the back wheel.
"Yeah."
"I told you. Get a new bike, Sen."
"I don't want to."
"Why are you so attached to this bike?"
Arsen shrugged.
"I've had it forever."
"So?"
"I just don't want to replace it."
Raka sighed.
"Sometimes I really don't get you."
In the end, they pushed the bike to Ms. Yuni's corner shop. She was already busy arranging fried snacks in the display case.
"Oh, is your little bike broken again?" Ms. Yuni asked.
Arsen turned to her at once.
"Ms. Yuni knows its name?"
"Its name?"
"The little bike."
Ms. Yuni laughed.
"Not its name. I mean your bike."
Raka sat down on a wooden bench.
"Ms. Yuni, if a bike could talk, do you think it would complain?"
"Of course. You force it to keep going every day."
Arsen took a small screwdriver from his bag.
"I'll fix it myself."
Ms. Yuni stopped arranging the fried snacks. Her eyes briefly shifted to the underside of the bike.
"Don't throw it away, okay?"
Arsen stared at her.
"Why?"
"No reason."
Her answer sounded strange.
Arsen wanted to ask again, but the school bell was already ringing in the distance.
"Uh-oh!" Raka stood up. "We're late!"
They hurried off.
All the way there, Arsen kept thinking about what Ms. Yuni had said. Don't throw it away.
Why had she said that?
When they arrived at school, Arsen parked his bike in its usual spot. He made sure the lock was secured before entering the classroom.
"Sen!"
A boy with somewhat long hair waved from the classroom door.
That was Dimas, a new student who had transferred to their school just a few days earlier.
"What?" Arsen asked.
"Whose bike is that?"
"Mine."
"Can I take a look?"
Arsen was a little confused.
"Go ahead."
Dimas walked over to the bike rack. He examined the bike from front to back without touching it.
"Did you buy it?"
"No. I've had it for a long time."
Dimas nodded slowly.
"I've seen a bike like this before."
"Where?"
"I don't know. Maybe in a picture."
Raka, standing beside Arsen, immediately cut in.
"Whose picture?"
Dimas shook his head.
"I forgot."
The bell rang again.
"Come on, let's go in," Arsen said.
The three of them returned to class.
The school day went on as usual. The math teacher gave them an assignment, the Indonesian language teacher asked them to read a short story, and during recess, Raka was busy buying fried noodles in the cafeteria.
Arsen sat at his desk and opened his bag.
Suddenly, he stopped.
"Huh."
Raka turned to him.
"What?"
Arsen pushed his hand deeper into the bag.
"There's something in here."
"What?"
Arsen pulled out a small sheet of paper.
The paper had been folded in half.
"Whose is it?"
"I don't know."
Raka took it.
"Open it."
Arsen unfolded it.
Inside was a single short sentence written in black ink.
Don't let that bike go too far.
Raka immediately fell silent.
Dimas, who was standing behind them, read it too.
"Who wrote it?"
Arsen shook his head.
"I don't know."
"Maybe it's a joke," Raka said.
"But this paper was in my bag."
"Who came into the classroom?"
Arsen looked around. Some of their classmates were eating, while others were playing in the schoolyard. No one was paying attention to them.
Dimas took the paper.
"This wasn't written recently."
"What do you mean?"
"Look at the ink."
Raka leaned closer.
"And?"
"It looks old."
Arsen began to feel an uneasiness in his chest.
He quickly slipped the paper into his pocket.
"Don't tell anyone yet."
Raka nodded.
Dimas didn't object either.
After school, Arsen walked quickly toward the bike rack. He wanted to check his bike right away.
But the moment he got there, he stopped.
The little basket on the front of his bike was no longer empty.
There was an object wrapped in brown cloth inside it.
Arsen looked to the right and left.
"Raka..."
Raka, who had just come out of the gate, walked over.
"What now?"
Arsen pointed at the basket.
Raka came closer.
"Wait, was that there before?"
"No."
Dimas looked too from behind them.
"Don't open it here."
Arsen gently touched the bundle.
A small sound came from inside the cloth.
Like something made of metal.
Raka swallowed.
"Sen, what is that?"
Arsen didn't answer.
He only stared at his little bike, which suddenly felt much stranger than it had that morning.
For the first time, Arsen wondered whether the bike he had always taken everywhere was really just an ordinary bike after all.