I left Red at a roadside tire repair shop beneath the overpass. I left the key with the mechanic and slipped fifty thousand rupiah into his hand, then booked a motorcycle rideshare with trembling hands.
On the back of the motorcycle, I ignored the barrage of messages from Mr. Bambang on WhatsApp asking where I was because the warehouse audit had already begun. I knew skipping work like this was extremely risky, but at the moment, my mind was completely consumed by the laptop at home. If that project failed, it wouldn't just be my job on the line—it would jeopardize my family's entire future.
As soon as I reached the entrance to our alley, I ran straight home. The unmistakable smell of burning electronic components stung my nose the moment I opened the front door. Ghea stood anxiously in front of my bedroom door, while Mom was busy flipping the electrical breaker back on beside the house.
I rushed into my room. The thick black laptop on my desk was completely dead. Not a single indicator light was on. The sharpest burnt smell came from the ventilation openings on its underside.
Its processor hadn't been able to withstand hours of nonstop rendering in the stuffy room. The motherboard had shorted out and burned up completely.
“Ghan... what happened? Is the laptop broken?” Ghea asked softly from the doorway.
I fell silent, staring blankly at the electronic wreckage in front of me. My head felt empty for several seconds. The eighteen-million-rupiah project was only halfway done, and now my only weapon was destroyed.
But panicking wouldn't solve anything. As the middle child, I'd been trained to immediately look for a backup plan whenever the main plan fell apart.
I took a small screwdriver from the drawer, quickly removed the back casing of my laptop, and pulled out the SSD—the storage drive containing my project files and software. Luckily, the little drive didn't look burnt. My data was probably still safe.
“I'm heading out, Mbak,” I said as I put the SSD and mouse into my backpack.
“Where are you going, Ghan?”
“I have something important to take care of, Mbak.”
I went to the Roxy district, where a large gaming internet cafe was located. The place was famous for having high-spec computers commonly used for esports tournaments. I rented one PC in the VIP room for a full ten hours.
There, amid the noise of teenagers playing online games, I sat alone in the corner of the room. I connected my SSD with an external adapter, reinstalled several design-software licenses, and resumed the rendering process that had been interrupted.
Fortunately, this internet cafe's computers were much faster. The rendering percentage that had been creeping along before was now moving more steadily.
I spent the rest of the day inside the internet cafe, staring at the monitor as my eyes grew redder with exhaustion. At eight that night, after making sure all the exterior images had rendered perfectly and been saved safely to Google Drive, I was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. My first assignment was complete. Half the road to twenty-five million rupiah had opened up.
At nine that night, I walked into our quiet residential alley. The night air felt cold against my thin jacket.
When I got home, I didn't go inside right away. I sat in a plastic chair on the front porch. Mom and Dad seemed to have already gone to sleep, while Ghea was ironing clothes in the living room, visible as a shadow through the glass window.
Ghea came outside carrying a glass of hot tea, then sat in the chair beside me.
“Are you done with everything, Ghan?” she asked softly, handing me the glass of tea.
“Yeah, Mbak. Thank God, everything's okay,” I replied, taking a sip of the hot tea. Its sweetness soothed my dry throat.
Ghea gazed at the dark alley in front of us. “Ghan... I'm sorry. I haven't been able to help with anything. All I can do is add to your burden by nagging you every day.”
I gave a faint smile, watching the steam rise from my glass. “It's okay, Mbak. It's my responsibility anyway.”
“Sometimes I wonder...” Ghea paused, her eyes glistening as they reflected the porch light. “Why does our life have to be this complicated? The neighbors next door can buy a new car, and their kids are sailing through college. Meanwhile, we... we have to think twice just to get the motorcycle fixed.”
I fell silent. Ghea's question was one that often crossed my own mind on quiet nights like this.
Our life really was this simple. Sometimes it felt unfair. Sometimes it felt utterly exhausting just to keep ourselves hovering at the edge of normal.
“But we still have a home to rest in, Mbak,” I finally said, gently patting my sister's shoulder. “And we still have each other. That's more than enough.”