Al finally arrived at Indra’s home, located on the outskirts of the city. It was larger than a typical house, yet still felt humble. Parked in the front yard were a family car and a large fish truck, filled with the scent of the sea.
The compound was spacious. A mango tree, heavy with fruit, towered over a small chicken coop beside the kitchen.
Al walked up to the porch and knocked on the door.
Shortly after, the door opened. A middle-aged woman wearing a floral house dress greeted him with a warm smile.
"Oh, Al! You came too..."
Al flashed his signature half-mischievous grin.
"Hello, Auntie... You’re looking younger every day. Soon people will mistake you for Indra’s sister."
The woman giggled softly and patted his shoulder like a fan meeting an idol.
"Oh, you sure know how to flatter. Come in, dear... I’ll make you breakfast—you probably haven’t eaten yet."
"Ah, Auntie, sorry to trouble you, hehe."
Al stepped inside. The house smelled of home-cooked food and polished wood—warm and inviting.
Inside, Indra sat in his room, surrounded by piles of books and an open laptop displaying modern fish-farming designs—classic imagery for a Fisheries major.
"Oh, you’re already here?" Indra greeted, trying to speak.
Al was fast asleep on Indra’s folding mattress, hoodie still covering his head, backpack half-open.
Indra sighed. A fond smile spread across his clean, round face.
"Some things never change, this kid..."
Flashback — Orphanage, 12 Years Ago
Five-year-old Al sat in the corner of the playroom, hugging a wooden doll with a tiny club. His tiny face was incredibly cute—like a talking toy.
So adorable that the caretakers and the house mothers fought over him.
"Al, come here and get a hug from Sister~"
"Al, come nap with Mother~"
Other boys began to bristle.
"Ew, what a showoff."
"Let’s prank him! Let’s shake his bed!"
This all made Al miss sleep—often used as a plaything by the sisters and teased by other boys.
Every time Al fell asleep, someone shook his bed. His toys disappeared. Sometimes his face was smudged with charcoal. But Al never cried. He just stayed quiet... then drifted to sleep in the corner, sitting.
Indra, then seven years old, watched from afar.
He knew what it felt like to be bullied, but he’d never had a face as sweet as Al’s.
Yet... seeing Al sleep with such exhaustion, clutching his wooden doll against the wall, Indra felt pity.
He became Al’s "sleep guard."
Every time Al slept, Indra would stand watch—hands folded, eyes sharp—deterring the others.
"Mess with him again and I’ll toss you in the pond!"
Even though Al was small, he sensed it. Sometimes just before drifting off, he’d glance at Indra and smile softly. Without a word. Just sleep.
Indra looked at Al—peacefully asleep with his innocent face and tousled hair.
"I don’t get it... you sleep so freely here, even after becoming a rich kid with a fancy room and plush bed..."
"Maybe... this kid just doesn’t fit into super-rich family life yet."
Indra returned to his work. But before resuming typing, he stood, walked to the window, and quietly drew the curtains.
Guarding someone’s quiet sleep...
One hour later, a gentle knock came at Indra’s door. His mother entered carrying a tray with hot tea and a plate of homemade cakes—fragrant and tempting.
"This is for Al. Poor child. He probably still hasn’t adjusted to his family lifestyle..."
Indra glanced lazily over.
"He’s still asleep, Ma. Like a corpse. Just leave the cake on the table..."
His mother nodded and went to set the tray down—when suddenly...
A pale hand shot out from beneath the blankets.
Immediately grabbing a cake without hesitation.
Indra’s mother nearly dropped her teacup. Indra jumped in surprise.
"Wow! Are you a real zombie? Just woke up from the dead—and all for cake?!"
Al sat up, half-lazy. His eyes still sleepy, but his hands busy shoving cake into his mouth.
"How did I fall asleep..." he murmured softly.
He looked at Indra’s mother, then narrowed his eyes as if forming the most dramatic line of his life.
"...when an angel like you brought me this delicious cake?"
Indra’s mother giggled.
"Oh, you—you sure are sweet-talkin’."
Indra glared in irritation.
"Alright, Ma. Just let him be. He might make you fall in love with his charm next."
His mother left the room in laughter, closing the door softly behind her. Only Indra and Al remained inside—one boiling with anger, the other with cheeks full of cake.
Indra exhaled and looked at Al seriously.
"I don’t understand. You come here always tired. Now you’re a rich kid—why act like a refugee? Didn’t your house give you a private room?"
Al didn’t reply. He calmly ate his cake, then took a sip of tea like a refined noble—pinky finger raised.
"Oh my... when your tongue tastes food, do all your other senses just stop working?" mumbled Indra before sighing, "...How do the rest of your senses even work with your tongue hogging everything?"
Al paused, setting down his tea. Then looked at Indra with a pseudo-philosophical expression.
"Do rich kids always have to wake up early?"
Indra stared in confusion.
"What kind of question is that... But yes, I guess so. Rich kids probably have lots of rules."
Al stared more seriously now, no grin. His voice low but cutting.
"How do you know? Are you a rich kid?"
Instantly, the room grew cold. Indra stared at Al in shock—in disbelief that this lazy kid could wound human pride with a single sentence.
A pillow soared and struck Al’s face.
"Feel that! You breathing-maligned brat!!!"
"Lying insult!! Waaahhh!"
"Yeah, I’m just a fisherman’s kid. Done!!"
Al giggled as he parried the pillow attack.
"If you’re a fisherman’s kid, why do you live in a room? Go to sea already."
"This is my house—command me to get lost, buddy."
The clock struck 10:00 a.m.
Al stepped out of Indra’s home wearing the sweetest grin he could manage. His hair still messy, but his smile had the charm of a tea-drink commercial star.
"Thanks for the cake, Auntie. Please look after Indra... And tell him to study hard and sleep less."
Indra’s mother blushed in amusement.
"Yes, yes... stay safe, Al..."
From inside the house a shout rang out:
"You lazy sleeper!!!"
Indra burst through the door and kicked toward Al—but it was too late.
Al had vanished around the corner. Only dust and a breeze remained of the scene.