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A soft hum buzzed through his ears as the city faded behind him, replaced by melody. Something light. Romantic. The kind of song that plays in a movie right before the leads realize they've fallen in love… except Rony was falling in love with nothing. Maybe the wind. Maybe the rhythm of surviving.
He tapped his phone screen and the music bloomed louder in his earbuds—an old track with soft strings and tender vocals. His lips curled up.
"Ah," he whispered to himself. "This one's smooth."
Then he broke into a run.
His sneakers slapped against the uneven sidewalk as he dashed past a line of corner shops, a pharmacy still rolling up its shutter, and a cat too lazy to move out of his way.
He waved at it.
"Sorry, bro!"
One hand kept his bag from bouncing off his spine while the other fished a crumpled metro card from his back pocket. The entrance to the Sunway Metro Station loomed ahead—concrete stairs, rusted railing, and the smell of engine oil and dreams that hadn't made it past the last train.
He jumped the final three steps and landed like a man who'd done this way too many times.
Inside, the platform lights flickered overhead. The air smelled like iron and humidity. He made his way to a worn ticket machine, pressed a few buttons, and watched the paper slide out like it regretted being born.
One train ticket. Next city. No return.
He sat down on a metal bench, breath still catching up to him, and glanced sideways.
"Oh, right," he said casually, remembering us again. "You're still watching."
He stretched his arms and leaned back like the world owed him a break.
"You're probably wondering where this good-for-nothing is going."
He held the ticket between two fingers and wiggled it like a prize.
"I've got a job. No, not a real one," he added quickly, smirking. "Today's just one of my many weekend adventures. I'm heading to the super mall in the next city to serve as your friendly neighborhood security guard."
A pause.
"Yes. You heard right. Guard duty."
A group of school kids walked past the platform behind him, laughing too loud, and Rony watched them like they were ghosts of a life he didn't get to keep.
"But that's not my main gig. Just a side quest."
He rubbed his hands together as if warming them over invisible fire.
"My real job's in the civil court. Government certified, badge and all."
He gave a mock salute, then dropped it like the pose felt too heavy.
"How'd I get that?" He raised a brow, expecting the question.
"Well, thank my friend for that. Old high school buddy. His uncle worked in the court system and heard I was job-hunting after... well, after everything."
His voice softened, just a bit.
"After my mom passed, I started picking up any job I could. Part-time shifts, weekend gigs, anything that didn't need a fancy degree. I was still in high school, and my sister—she was barely in middle school."
He looked down at the ticket in his hand.
"I didn't want her to know how close we were to the edge. So I smiled. Worked nights. Faked being okay."
He chuckled softly, more breath than sound.
"Turns out lying to your face in the mirror is a great skill for customer service."
Then, like flipping a page, his voice shifted back to light.
"After graduation, I applied for the army and police—stable jobs, right? Government pay, good benefits. I even passed the physical tests. I was ready to go."
He tilted his head slightly, watching the tiled floor as if it held the rest of the story.
"But when the letters came, the training meant moving out. Far from home. Far from her. And I couldn't. I wouldn't leave her alone in that house."
A silence settled over the station.
"I had enough saved to get us through a couple more years. So I made a decision: college first, get a degree, and land a government job that wouldn't make me vanish."
He looked up, eyes clearer now.
"That's how I got the court job. Small office, paperwork, long hours, but stable. Reliable."
Then he leaned forward slightly, conspiratorial.
"But weekends? Weekends are for backup plans. My friend's uncle heard I needed extra work and said, 'Let the kid stand in a uniform and get paid for not sleeping.' So now I'm Guard Rony on Saturdays and Sundays."
He raised a fist like he was holding a badge.
Just then, the crackle of the intercom broke through the station air:
"Train arriving on Platform 3. Please stand clear of the yellow line. Train arriving on Platform 3."
The announcement echoed off the tiles like a robotic ghost.
Rony stood up, shaking the stiffness out of his knees. He adjusted the strap on his bag again and turned toward the platform just as the tunnel ahead began to glow with headlights.
"There she is," he muttered.
The train pulled in with a screech and a sigh, doors sliding open like the world letting out its breath.
He stepped inside without fanfare, found a window seat, and sat down with a soft exhale. The city outside blurred slightly behind smudged glass.
He didn't speak.
For once, he just let the world move while he rested. A boy with two jobs, a heart too big for the pain it carried, and earbuds still humming a song too romantic for reality.
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To Be Continued...