The kopitiam was a symphony of morning chaos. Sunlight spilled through the open storefront in thick, golden bars, catching on glass cups, metal kettles, and the thin plumes of smoke rising from the hot plates. The air was thick with the scent of charcoal-toasted bread and strong coffee. It was crowded with early risers—fishermen smelling of the salt and damp wood, elderly couples sharing breakfast in a practiced, comfortable silence, and workers stopping for a final caffeine kick before their shifts began.
The rhythmic clinking of spoons against porcelain blended with the boisterous chatter and the sharp, melodic calling of orders from behind the wooden counter.
Haya sat quietly amidst the noise, his hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea, letting the steam dampen his face. Across from him, Zul was a whirlwind of motion, already halfway through his second plate of food, leaning back with the satisfied air of someone who owned the place.
"Man!" Zul suddenly exclaimed, slamming his palm lightly on the table, making the saucers rattle. "It's really only been two days since school officially ended? Just two?"
Danish chuckled, slowly stirring his coffee. "Feels weird, doesn't it? Like the world stopped, but we're still moving."
"Yeah," Zul agreed, his voice losing its playful edge for a second as he stared at the condensation on his glass. "It's that weird 'in-between' feeling. Like we're standing in a hallway and someone just locked the door behind us, but the door in front hasn't even appeared yet. It's a holiday that feels less like a break and more like an eviction."
Danish nodded slowly. "That's heavy, Zul. But accurate.
Haya glanced around. No uniforms. No rigid schedules. No bells marking the passage of their lives. Just the four of them, drifting in the morning light.
"It is a different kind of silence," Danish said thoughtfully. "Looking back at the homework, the stress, the group projects... I hate to admit it, but I kind of miss the chaos of it."
Zul raised an eyebrow. "You miss homework? Are you okay, bro?"
"No," Danish shot back with a grin. "I miss the excuses. I miss skipping classes to go to those innovation events. Remember that competition, Haya?"
Haya spoke up, his voice calm but certain. "The one where you built that water-filtration prototype? You were terrified to present in front of that crowd."
Danish blinked, surprised. "You actually remember that? I appreciate that, man. I thought you were bored out of your mind that day."
"It was a big deal for you," Haya shrugged lightly. "It's normal for me to remember."
Danish leaned back, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling as if replaying the scene. "That was probably my most precious memory. Even though we were exhausted and honestly terrified... we were bonded. We went through that fire together."
Zul tilted his head, ever the pragmatist. "Sounds like a lot of work. Did you actually win any money?"
Haya smirked faintly, the shadow of a real smile appearing. "They did. It was about RM500, wasn't it, Danish?"
Zul nearly choked on his toast. "RM500?! That's a lot! My regional gaming tournament only gave my team RM200 for the whole weekend!"
"It was a national level event, Zul…," Haya said calmly.
"Well," Haya said, trying to steer them back to solid ground, "at least you have your tournaments. That's more of a 'story' than most of us have."
"Oh, shut it, Mr. National Prize," Zul snapped, though his eyes were twinkling with mock annoyance. "Don't act all humble now. I spent my whole junior year watching you polish that trophy for the English Essay competition while I was getting grilled by the principal for 'unauthorized use of the computer lab.' You were the golden boy, Haya. Your story is written in the school archives. Mine is just written on a detention slip."
Haya let out a dry, short laugh. "The archives don't tell the whole story, Zul. They just record the ending. They don't record the months I spent staring at a blank page wishing I was in the lab with you instead."
They burst into laughter, the sound light and genuine, momentarily pushing back the heaviness in Haya's chest. Amar watched them quietly, an amused expression on his face.
"To think you three have such different stories," Amar said after a moment. "I always thought you guys clung to each other like a single unit in school."
"We were," Danish said. "Just in different orbits."
"As for me," Amar continued, leaning back slightly, "I clung to my best friend. We did everything together—lunch, studying, camping, sports. You name it, we tried it. Even part-time jobs. But now," he shrugged, "we've gone different paths. Everyone has their own mountains to climb."
Zul suddenly leaned toward Haya with a teasing grin. "Well then, Haya, don't cry when I'm not around. You gotta make your own frieeeendssss."
Haya frowned. "Why do you say that like I'm socially broken?"
"I'm just saying!" Zul laughed. "All your friends were just our friends who coincidentally realized you were standing there too!"
"Ugh…" Haya groaned, rubbing his temple as the truth of the statement stung just a little.
Amar laughed softly. "Look at the bright side. I think Haya has a specific kind of energy. Something that makes people want to befriend him, even if he doesn't say much. He's like a quiet fire."
"So what's your secret, huh, Haya?" Zul leaned closer, squinting.
Haya blinked. "Why are you asking me? As if I'd know."
For a moment, everything felt light. Almost lifted.
The plates were nearly empty. Only crumbs remained, and the steam from their drinks had thinned, disappearing into the warm morning air. Around them, the kopitiam was still a roar of activity, but at their table, a sudden quiet had formed.
Amar leaned slightly forward. "Haya," he said gently. "You're the only one who hasn't said anything yet. About your high school life, I mean."
The silence that followed was sharp. Zul shifted in his seat. Before the tension could stretch too far, Danish reached over and gave the back of Zul's head a light smack.
"Shuuuuttt," Danish whispered. "Let him think."
"Ow—what was that for?" Zul grumbled, but he went quiet.
Amar remained calm. "We will wait until you're ready to say something. It's not that I want to know everything. You can keep it if you feel we aren't the ones to tell it to."
Haya stared at the wood grain of the table. He searched his memories—classrooms, exam halls, empty corridors, afternoons that felt exactly like the day before. The more he looked back, the more everything blended into a grey loop.
He had no grand victories. No unforgettable dramas. No loud, shining moments.
"My high school life wasn't bad," he said slowly, his voice sounding distant even to himself. "It was… calming. Comforting." He paused. "But that's all I can cherish. And for that, I feel like I have nothing to tell."
The others stayed quiet.
"There is no story that I made," Haya continued, his fingers tightening against the edge of the table. "Thinking back… I think I've been holding back. Or maybe I'm stuck to something I can't see."
He gave a faint, self-conscious smile. "Wasn't that interesting, right?"
Zul opened his mouth, then stopped himself. Amar looked at him with profound understanding. "Well, I think there is a story, Haya, but you just didn't realize it yet."
Danish nodded. "Yeah. Even if it feels like a loop, every day must have had something different. We just have to look closer."
Haya didn't answer. Because deep down, he knew the weight was still there. It had shifted, but it remained.
"Well… at least you said something," Zul suddenly broke the heaviness, giving Haya an exaggerated thumbs-up. "Good job!"
Haya stared at him with a completely unimpressed, blank expression. Danish nearly choked on his last sip of coffee. "You don't have to make that face!"
Before Haya could respond, a ringtone pierced through the air. All of them froze. Slowly, they turned toward Amar.
"Mom."
He answered immediately. "Yeah, hello? Mom?"
On the other side, their mother's voice came through clearly. "Where have you all been? I have prepared breakfast for all of you!"
Amar blinked. "Ehh… sorry, but didn't I tell you this morning that we were going to eat breakfast outside?"
"Is that so? I don't remember that," she replied. "Then who is going to finish all of this? I really wanted to eat with you all."
Suddenly, another voice jumped in. "Huhuhuhu… I didn't know Big Bro grew up to be someone who makes their mom cry."
"Inari," Amar muttered, rubbing his brow.
The boys burst into silent laughter as Amar promised they would eat again when they got back. After Amar paid the bill, they stepped out of the kopitiam and began walking home. The morning had fully awakened now; the sun was higher, warming the road beneath their feet.
"It sure is hot, don't you think?" Zul complained, fanning himself.
"Nah," Danish replied. "This is just the right warmth of the morning."
"Even if you say that, Danish," Haya added calmly, "there's no way that guy is going to understand. He spends his holidays as a cave-dweller playing games."
Zul gasped in offense. "Even though I did that… at least I got to see the sun rising before going to bed!"
"That is not something to be proud of," Amar said flatly.
The three of them burst into laughter, their shadows stretching long across the road as they teased one another. And before they realized it, they were home.
By the time they reached the house, their mother was waiting under the shade of the large tree in the yard.
"Hey, boys! Come here, quick! There's still food!"
"OKAY!" they shouted in unison.
Despite having already eaten, they sat in a circle on the warm ground. "Second breakfast," Danish announced solemnly. "A vital tradition."
They ate again, the yard filled with the sounds of overlapping conversations. As the meal wound down, Zul leaned back, rubbing his stomach. "I think I'm going to explode."
"That's because you have no self-control," Annis said, appearing from the house.
"How do you know that?" Zul blinked.
"I've known you since you were a toddler, Zul. You haven't changed."
"Neither has Haya," Zul added, looking at him. "You still don't remember anything precious, do you?"
It was meant as a joke, but Haya felt a cold shiver. "What's that supposed to—"
"Ouch!" Zul yelped as Annis pinched him for no reason. "What was that for?!"
"You were talking too much," Annis smiled annoyed.
The levity returned, and their mother clapped her hands. "I've decided!" their mother declared, pointing a finger toward the center of the yard. "Right there, under the shade of the old rambutan tree. I want a wakaf—an open hut where the breeze hits just right. We're going to build it ourselves."
She turned her gaze toward Danish and Zul with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And since you two are basically part of the furniture in this house, you're officially drafted into the construction crew. No excuses."
"Auntie, I have the upper body strength of a wet noodle," Zul protested, though he was already grinning.
"Then you can be the designated 'Hammer Fetcher,'" she shot back. "Danish, you're the smart one—I want you to sketch something that won't collapse the first time Haya sits in it."
Danish laughed, leaning forward. "I can do that, Auntie. We should use elevated stilts so the rain doesn't rot the wood. Maybe some lattice work on the sides for vines to grow?"
"Ooo, and a thatched roof!" Zul added, suddenly invested. "It'll look like a secret base."
Haya looked at the spot, his mind already calculating. "If we're doing that, we should level the ground first and put down some carpet grass. It'll stop the area from turning into a mud pit. And maybe benches integrated into the frame to save on timber costs. We don't need a palace, just a place to breathe."
"Listen to him," Amar chuckled, clapping Haya on the shoulder. "The foreman has spoken. Looks like we have a project for the summer, boys."
e