The man was still smiling.
And I was still standing at the door of my own house with a hand that had just released his, with the bracelet cold at my wrist, with a name I was hearing for the first time but that felt like something I had heard somewhere I couldn't remember.
My mind was doing what it always did when it didn't know what to do.
It was looking for a reasonable explanation.
Cold from the morning air. Familiar because the name wasn't that unusual. Just a feeling, all of it.
Then two figures appeared from behind Zayriel.
A woman — around *Mak*'s age, with a composed face and a smile that had been prepared before she reached our door. And beside her, holding her hand with small fingers that didn't yet know how the world worked —
a little girl.
Four, maybe five years old. Short curly hair. A pink *baju kurung* too pretty for an ordinary day, as though she knew today was important and had dressed accordingly.
Her eyes met mine.
She smiled — with her whole face, the way only a small child who hasn't yet learned to hold back can smile.
And something in my chest that had been tense since just now loosened slightly without permission.
"Sorry to disturb you so early." The woman stepped forward — enough to enter the space of the conversation but not too far. Controlled. "Call me *Mak Cik* Ira. This is Ara." Her hand stroked the little girl's head slowly. "She insisted on coming just now."
Ara looked up at *Mak Cik* Ira with a protesting face. "Ara wants to see the new house."
"Our new house. Not someone else's."
"Same thing."
I laughed — it came out on its own, unplanned.
---
*Mak* and *Ayah* came out to greet them before I had time to process what had just happened.
*Mak* with a smile I rarely saw her give to people she'd just met. *Ayah* with a nod that said he had already taken stock of everyone at this door and reached an initial positive conclusion.
"Come in, come in." *Mak* stepped aside.
"We don't want to trouble you—"
"No trouble at all."
*Mak Cik* Ira complied. Ara had already stepped inside before being invited.
Zayriel — Zayriel who had been standing to the side of the door since just now, who wasn't pushing, who wasn't taking up space that hadn't been given — shook his head slowly.
"You all go in first. I need to finish with the things outside for a moment." His eyes shifted briefly to *Mak*. "It's fine isn't it — I'll follow in a bit."
*Mak* nodded. "Of course, of course. Finish up first."
The door of our house closed halfway.
And Zayriel turned toward the lorry in the yard — his back to us, his back to the house, with unhurried steps and shoulders that carried no tension I could read from a distance.
I went inside.
---
Our living room suddenly had a new arrangement.
*Mak Cik* Ira on the right sofa with *Ayah* — talking about the housing area, the neighbours, how long the house next door had been empty before they moved in. *Mak* sat beside *Ayah*, entering the conversation at the right moments. My younger sister on the side sofa, phone in hand, half listening half not.
And Ara — Ara who was supposed to be sitting with *Mak Cik* Ira, who had known me for only five minutes — was already on the sofa across from me.
Beside me.
With a thin storybook in her hand that she held out to me with a face that left no room for refusal.
"*Kakak* read it."
Not a question.
I looked at the book — *Sang Kancil dan Buaya*, a worn cover, pages already yellowed at the edges — then looked at Ara who was waiting with a patience unusual for a child her age.
"Where did Ara get this book?"
"*Nenek* gave it." Ara sat close beside me, her shoulder touching my arm. "*Nenek* said the book is old. She said the story inside is true."
"True how?"
Ara turned to look at me. Her eyes — a small child's eyes that hadn't yet learned to conceal what they saw — were serious in a way that shouldn't have existed on a face her age.
"*Nenek* said in the forest there are things that know how to deceive. They show kindness first." Ara paused for a moment. "Then they eat."
The living room continued to buzz with the voices of *Mak* and *Mak Cik* Ira talking, with *Ayah* entering and exiting the conversation, with all the ordinary sounds that should have been there.
But I — I sat with the book in my hand and Ara's words that had just stepped into something I didn't want to name.
*In the forest there are things that know how to deceive. They show kindness first.*
"Ara," I said softly. "Which *nenek* said that?"
But Ara had already turned away, already pointing to the first page, already returned to being a five-year-old who simply wanted to hear the story of *Sang Kancil*.
"*Kakak*, just read."
I read.
On the sofa across, *Mak Cik* Ira's conversation with *Mak* and *Ayah* moved from one topic to another — the housing area, nearby schools, shops *Mak Cik* Ira hadn't had a chance to explore yet. Then *Mak Cik* Ira gave a small laugh, her eyes shifting toward us.
"This Ara." She shook her head, still with the same tone as if speaking about something ordinary. "I didn't expect her to get comfortable so quickly. With new people she's usually quiet."
"She's so sweet." *Mak* smiled at Ara.
"Just the three of us now — after my late husband passed." *Mak Cik* Ira continued, at the same pace, the same tone, as though it was a continuation of the same sentence and not something heavy. "Ara doesn't have an older sister. Her brother is grown up, has his own life."
*Mak* nodded slowly. "*Innalillah*."
"*Rezeki* for him." *Mak Cik* Ira smiled — the smile of someone who had long learned how to smile about something that hurt. "Maybe that's why Ara is the way she is."
The conversation shifted back to other things.
Everyone in that living room heard. Everyone felt the right sympathy, the genuine kind, the kind that was warranted.
And I — I sat with Ara leaning further into my arm without realising it, with the book still open in my hand, and I didn't know whether *Mak Cik* Ira had just mentioned that because it came out naturally in the conversation —
or because she could see me from the sofa across and she knew exactly what she needed to say.
---
An hour later, they prepared to leave.
Ara hugged me before going out — a small child's hug that didn't know how to do things halfway, that didn't yet know there were people you shouldn't love too quickly.
"Ara's coming again tomorrow," she informed me with complete confidence.
"Ask *Mak Cik* Ira first."
"*Mak Cik* Ira said it's fine if *Kakak* wants it."
I looked at *Mak Cik* Ira who was talking with *Mak* at the door. *Mak Cik* Ira — as though sensing my gaze — turned. Smiled. A smile that was the right size, the right timing, with eyes that joined in correctly.
Perfect.
Too perfect in a way that only showed if you were the one looking carefully.
"Fine," I said to Ara.
I turned to go back inside —
"Oh, *Aina*."
*Mak*.
I looked at *Mak* who was still standing at the door with *Mak Cik* Ira, with the expression of someone who had just thought of something.
"*Mak Cik* Ira has some things in her car. Can you help carry them? She says they're light."
*Mak Cik* Ira immediately shook her head, her hand waving. "Oh no need — really no need, I can—"
"She's free right now. What's she doing sitting inside." *Mak* looked at me with the way *Mak* looked when the answer she expected was only one. "Right, *Aina*?"
Two pairs of eyes looked at me.
I smiled.
"Of course."
---
*Mak Cik* Ira's car — a black car parked in front of the next house — was opened with the key *Mak Cik* Ira handed to me halfway there.
"In the back. Just small bags — Ara has more clothes than her *mak cik*." *Mak Cik* Ira gave a small laugh. "I'll go in for a bit, show Ara her room. Won't be long."
Then she went into the house.
I was alone.
The back door of the car was opened.
Small bags were there as *Mak Cik* Ira had said — two clothing bags, one of Ara's with a rabbit cartoon on the front. Light. I lifted everything in one go, tucking Ara's bag under my arm, and in that movement —
something fell.
From between the bags. From a place hidden beneath Ara's bag.
It fell onto the seat with a small sound.
A photograph.
Folded in half, its edges yellowed with age — a photograph that had been folded and kept somewhere not many knew about, that shouldn't have fallen out today.
I looked at it.
Half open from the fold — the bottom half of the photograph facing me, just enough to see a little. An old fabric pattern. Part of someone's hand — a woman's hand, I could tell from the slenderness of the wrist.
And at that wrist —
something I almost didn't look at twice.
Something I told myself I had seen wrong because I was tired and the morning had been too full and eyes play tricks in moments like this.
Small wooden beads. A red string.
A bracelet that looked — from what little I could see — like something I wore every day.
I didn't open the photograph.
I didn't know why I didn't open it. Only that something in the deeper part of me had already decided that opening it right then wasn't the right thing to do.
Maybe I was wrong about what I saw.
Maybe.
"Found everything?" *Mak Cik* Ira appeared at the side of the car, her smile still the same — the right size, the right timing.
"Yes." I handed her the bags.
*Mak Cik* Ira took them. Her eyes dropped briefly inside the car — toward the seat, toward the photograph that was still lying there with half its contents facing the sky — then rose back to me.
Her smile didn't change.
But her hand reached into the car and took the photograph — once, quickly, the way a person takes something they don't want anyone to have time to notice — and folded it back before closing the door.
"Thank you, dear."
The car door was closed.
I stood there with empty hands and eyes that still held something I couldn't put back in its original place.
Small wooden beads. A red string.
In a photograph I didn't know who was in.
In a hand I didn't get to see who owned.
Maybe I had seen it wrong.
But the bracelet at my wrist — cold.
Slow. Deep.
For the first time since morning.
---
In the car, *Along* spoke in a tone that tried to be casual but didn't quite manage it.
"Our *Aina* being so helpful to new neighbours. Is there an ulterior motive?"
"*Along*."
"The neighbour's son seems fine though. Quite good-looking too."
My younger sister chimed in from the back. "Might as well try your luck."
Laughter broke out in the car. *Mak* gave a small laugh. *Ayah* drove without saying anything but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
I glanced around at everyone. "So you're all gossiping about *Aina*."
"Alright, alright." *Ayah* changed gears. "Or *Along* will take back the treat."
The car moved.
I sat in the back seat watching the house next door grow smaller in the rear-view mirror — the house that was empty yesterday, that had people in it now, whose door was already closed with no sign from outside of what was within.
Small wooden beads. A red string.
Maybe I had seen it wrong.
The family's laughter still echoed in the car.
I smiled along with them.
And turned to face forward.
---
That night passed with a slow, noisy, normal dinner.
Then, just before bed, I realised.
The clothes *Mak* had bought earlier — not in my bag.
I searched my room first. Then asked *Along*. Then *Angah*. Then my younger sister who answered with eyes half closed, "I think I put them in the boot earlier. Just get it tomorrow."
"They'll get damp from the morning dew."
"It's not even raining."
I stood in the middle of my room with a jacket already on and *Ayah*'s car keys in hand — and I knew it was just clothes, I knew they could wait until morning. But there was something more than the clothes. Something that made me need to step outside this house for five minutes, away from walls that felt like they had stored too much today.
I went out.
---
Outside at night was quiet in the way a housing area is quiet — not empty, but calm, with yellow streetlights and the sound of crickets from trees at the far end of the park.
*Ayah*'s car was at the far right of the yard.
I pressed the button — the beep split the silence, too loud for a night like this. The boot opened. The clothes were there in a white plastic bag, neat, uncrumpled.
I took them. Closed the boot. Turned to go back inside —
"*Assalamualaikum*."
My body stopped before my mind could process it.
On the concrete of the yard, in the yellow and slanted light of the streetlamp —
someone's shadow fell long beside my feet.
A shadow strange in its proportions. Too upright for a night with no wind. A shadow I felt I had seen before — not here, not in the light of streetlamps — but somewhere else, in light that had no source, among trees too old to care about a human presence.
I turned.
Zayriel stood at the edge of his yard — the thin boundary between the two yards that had no real fence to mark it. Dark clothing, hands in pockets, hair just as neat as this morning even though it was nearly midnight.
He smiled.
The same smile.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."
I swallowed. "It's fine."
"Car trouble?"
"Left some clothes."
He nodded. His eyes — in the streetlight that fell from the wrong angle — looked deeper than they had during the day. As though the light that was insufficient was failing to help my mind read his expression correctly.
Or perhaps the light was sufficient.
Perhaps this was what his face actually looked like when daylight wasn't covering it.
"It's late," he said. "Go inside."
Not ordering. Not pushing.
But there was something in that sentence — in the way he said *go inside* to me in the yard of my own house — that made something inside my chest shift to the wrong place.
As though he wasn't the guest here.
I nodded. Turned. Stepped toward the door.
I wasn't running — I told myself I wasn't running. I was just walking faster than usual because the night was cold, not for any other reason.
The door was closed.
The key was turned.
I stood inside my house with my back to the door and breath that I only now realised had not been going in deeply enough.
Outside, there was no sound of retreating footsteps.
I didn't know how long I waited before there was.
---
The dream came that night faster than usual.
The same forest — but something was different. The same tall trees, the same sourceless light. But the air that night held something new in it. Something that hadn't originally belonged to this forest.
Something that had followed me in.
The creature was closer than the night before — far closer, close enough for me to see clearly what previous nights had shown only in silhouette. Its fur dark, moving in a wind that wasn't there. The soles of its feet still not touching the ground — thin as paper above the earth's surface in a way my mind couldn't get used to.
Its head tilted.
Slowly. To the left. As though it was listening to something I wasn't aware I was emitting — sound, or feeling, or something that had no name in any human language.
Then it raised its hand.
Only halfway — not waving, not threatening. Just raising, with fingers too long for a hand that size.
It wasn't pointing at me.
It was pointing at something behind me.
I didn't turn around.
I was too afraid to turn around.
And I woke with breath suspended in my chest and a hand already on the bracelet and a cold that refused to leave even though the ceiling was above me now, even though the fan was still turning with the same sound.
I lay in the dark and arranged the things my mind refused to arrange.
The first night of the forest dream — the bracelet went cold for the first time in years. Zayriel appeared the next morning.
Today Zayriel was in our house.
Today I almost saw something in their car — small wooden beads, a red string, in a folded photograph I didn't get to open and didn't dare open.
Tonight the creature was close enough for me to see its fingers.
And it wasn't pointing at me.
It was pointing at something behind me that I didn't turn to see.
Just a feeling, I tried to say in the dark.
But this time those words refused to come out.
— END OF CHAPTER 2 —