The wooden door let out a long, drawn-out groan as it was pushed open—a sound like an old man forced awake from a deep slumber. Tara lingered on the threshold for a moment, weighing whether she was truly ready to face reality: this was her new sanctuary. It was small, stifling, and far from decent. But she knew that after the endless bargaining with the landlady, this was the only roof she could afford.
The room held nothing but a single bed with a thin mattress; the springs likely snapped in several places. Plain white sheets clung to it as if reluctant to let go, masking faint, stubborn stains. To the right stood a tall wooden wardrobe, its color dulled by years of decay. Its base was rotting, and when Tara pulled one of the doors open, the scent of damp wood mixed with cheap camphor hit her instantly. Inside the door, a scrawl of marker read: "Lilis 2021—this boarding house is hell." Tara swallowed hard and quickly shut it.
She dropped her backpack to the floor, the sound of the zipper tearing through the silence of the empty room. A small window in the corner offered a view of nothing but the neighbor's concrete wall. The dim afternoon light filtered in, making the dust motes dancing in the air painfully visible. Tara let out a heavy sigh. "God... am I really living here?" she whispered, somewhere between a bitter laugh and pure despair.
The last few days of her life felt like being dragged toward a fate she detested. Her savings were drying up, her ailing mother could no longer help, and her younger sister—still in high school—certainly couldn't be the one to find the money. Tara had known for a long time that the weight of the family would fall on her shoulders. But she never imagined it would lead her to a cramped room like this, in a sprawling city that felt utterly alien.
Two knocks sounded at the door. Tara snapped her head toward the sound. A woman's voice drifted in from the hallway—hoarse, yet warm.
"Dear? Are you the one named Tara?"
Tara hurriedly zipped her bag and walked to the door. Standing there was a middle-aged woman in a faded batik house dress, her hair tied up in a messy bun. This was Bu Rini, the landlady.
"Yes, Bu," Tara answered, forcing a smile.
"Good. If you need anything, just call me. The bathroom is in the back—it's shared, so don't forget to queue. The kitchen is back there too, you can use it, but please clean up every time you cook. Keep it quiet at night; the neighbor next door has a short fuse. Electricity is included, but don't plug in too many things, or the breaker will trip." She spoke rapidly, as if she had recited these lines a thousand times to a thousand different girls.
Tara could only nod, feeling a bit overwhelmed.
"Oh, and there are seven girls here, including you. The one who's been here the longest is Elvira—we call her El. Her room is right there, across from yours. She's... lively, you'll get to know her. Then there's Dina, a law student, a bit of a grump. There's another girl who works at a boutique, and Tami, she usually comes home late because of her shift at the cafe. Then there's Vanya—very devout, wears the hijab, always reminding the others to pray. You'll see for yourself, she can be a bit much sometimes. And Siska, she's in med school, rarely leaves her room—the quietest of the bunch, but she's a good kid. Anyway, you girls figure it out. I don't like to meddle, as long as the rent is on time."
Bu Rini gave a faint smile and handed over a small key with a red plastic keychain. In the center, the number 5 was written in black marker, faded but still legible.
"This is your key. Keep it safe. If you lose it, you pay for the replacement."
"Thank you, Bu," Tara said softly.
The moment Bu Rini left, Tara closed the door and looked at her room again. Silence returned. She sat on the bed, testing the springs that were already tired of supporting weight. Her back protested immediately. She closed her eyes. Her mother's image appeared—lying frail in the hospital bed a few weeks ago. Her final words before Tara left still echoed: "Don't be afraid, Ra. Life out there is hard, but I know you're strong."
Tara bit her lip, fighting back the lump in her throat. She hated crying in new places, especially in a room that didn't even feel like home yet.
The sound of a commotion drifted in from outside. Women laughing, the scuff of sandals on the floor, the slam of a door. Tara peeked through a gap in the window curtain that faced the hallway. Two other boarders were chatting. One was in ripped jeans with pale blonde hair. The other wore glasses and carried a laptop. They laughed loudly, as if the world outside the boarding house didn't exist.
Tara closed the curtain, feeling a sting of insecurity. She knew she'd have to introduce herself sooner or later, but her stomach was still nauseous from the long journey and the gnawing anxiety about the days to come.
She lay back on the thin mattress again, staring at the ceiling stained with water marks. The sharp scent of camphor filled her nose. From outside the window, the sound of a neighbor's TV playing a cheap soap opera blared. Tara took a deep breath. Welcome to your new life, Tara, she thought. Welcome to the cheap boarding house that might just witness your every rise and fall.
Night fell fast over the city. The streetlights flickered to life with a yellow glow, casting light on a thin, steady drizzle. From her room, Tara could hear the clinking of spoons against plates in the kitchen, mingled with the laughter of a few girls eating together.
Her stomach growled. She had eaten nothing but a sandwich bought at the station since morning. With hesitant steps, Tara stepped out of her room. The narrow hallway was lined with identical wooden doors, some left ajar. The scent of instant noodles, frying oil, and cheap perfume hung heavy in the air.
She took note of the layout: directly across from her room was door number 1, closest to the front gate. From her brief chat with Bu Rini, she knew that room belonged to Elvira. The other doors lined up toward the back until number 4, which sat next to the small kitchen at the end of the hall. On her side, doors 6 and 7 stood side-by-side, with a small bathroom tucked next to the last room.
"Hey, the new girl, right?" a voice suddenly greeted her.
Tara turned. A girl in a loose t-shirt and shorts stood in front of room number 3. Her long hair was dyed a pale blonde, and her eyes were framed with thick eyeliner, even though it was late. Her smile was friendly, but there was a certain sharpness to it.
"Yeah, I'm Tara," Tara replied, her voice a bit stiff.
"I'm Tami. Come on, eat with us. It's a full house in the kitchen." Without waiting for an answer, Tami took Tara's hand and led her down the hallway.
The kitchen was small—just a long, scribbled-on wooden table, two gas stoves, and a makeshift dish rack. But it felt alive. Three other women were already seated, bowls of noodles and glasses of warm tea lining the table. They all looked up as Tara entered.
"Is this the new girl?" asked one girl with glasses and long, braided hair.
"Um, yeah. I'm Tara."
"I'm Dina," the girl said, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Third-year law student, same as Tami. If you need to borrow a printer, just let me know."
"Wow, that's so kind," Tami chimed in as she sat down. "But don't be fooled, she's a nag. Like a grandma whenever she sees a dirty sink."
"Oh, shut up!" Dina poked Tami's arm with a chopstick.
A small laugh broke out. Tara smiled too, the awkwardness beginning to thaw.
Another girl, with shoulder-length hair and a plain face, introduced herself. "I'm Nisa. I work at a boutique, so I'm rarely here. Nice to meet you. Oh, my room is right next to yours, by the way."
"Just be careful," Tami interjected, pointing a spoon at Nisa. "She has a serious habit of ordering packages. If a courier comes looking, we're usually the victims."
"Hey, don't expose me like that!" Nisa protested with a pout, but her blushing face only fueled more laughter.
Before Tara could speak again, the kitchen door creaked. A woman entered, carrying a large water bottle. She was slender, a simple cream hijab framing her thin face. Her eyes were clear, but her gaze seemed to be appraising everyone in the room. When she saw Tara, she offered a polite smile.
"Hiiiii, the new girl? I'm Vanya. Room seven. If you need anything, you can talk to me," she said in a soft voice. But for some reason, there was a rigid formality behind the kindness, like a smile that had been practiced too many times.
Beside her, a thin girl in an oversized hoodie followed. Her black hair was a mess, her face pale with dark circles under her eyes. She sat down without a word and reached for a glass of water on the table.
"That's Siska," Vanya added quickly, as if to fill the silence. "She's in med school. Always studying... well, you know how it is."
Siska gave a faint, fleeting smile and let out a long sigh. Her gaze was hollow, fixed on the table, making Tara look down awkwardly. In her heart, Tara could guess—the burden this girl carried was surely much heavier than mere schoolwork.
The kitchen grew loud again as Tami started gossiping about a class. Tara just sat there, trying to commit each name to memory. It felt like being thrown into the middle of a strange new family—colorful, chaotic, and full of secrets she didn't yet understand.
Then, from a corner of the kitchen, a girl who had been sitting silently, playing with her spoon, turned her head. Her hair was long, dyed a reddish-brown with a jagged cut, as if she hadn't bothered to brush it. A few strands fell over her face, but under the neon light, the glint of a small piercing in her left eyebrow and her ears was unmistakable. Her lips were full, slightly chapped as if she often forgot to stay hydrated, giving her a hardened look. Her gaze was relaxed—the look of someone who had seen too much of everything and everyone.
She sat tilted, one leg pulled up onto the chair, her knee serving as a rest for her arm. Her movements were lazy and careless, yet there was an aura of confidence about her that commanded attention.
"As for me, I'm Elvira," she said shortly. Her voice was low and deep, as if echoing from an empty space.