Loh! It meant the door was completely new — no key had ever entered to open it before. The boy was the first to do so; that's why it felt so tight, even the girl trembled when he touched that spot. Had he tried again right away, the task would've been over, and the girl wouldn't have agreed to continue. To avoid further trouble, he pretended to stop what he'd intended.
He continued teasing at the doorway without forcing entry, which made the girl relax, forgetting she was in the jaws of a hungry crocodile. When she finally realized, it was too late — the missile had already been aimed at the door and was no longer playing. It was pushed forward with such force that she had no strength left to resist. She screamed in pain, but it meant nothing; the key had already passed through and locked into place.
After that, the boy went on enjoying himself, caring neither to withdraw nor to sense the pain he'd caused during entry.
Emma was filled with wicked delight, realizing he'd just taken someone's innocence. He'd become the first man to touch her, and he felt proud, imagining how he'd brag to his friends about it. For him, it was luck — pure luck to experience that — and even the muffled cries from the girl didn't matter; he simply indulged in his pleasure.
---
The sound reached Zaituni and Siyawezi, who were still nearby. They giggled softly and clapped their hands together. They knew the plan had gone perfectly — the boys hadn't failed, they had carried out their task exactly as plotted. If it had been a military mission, it would've been said to have succeeded without a hitch. The girls had set up their friends — and fallen even deeper themselves, sinking into a pit far beyond their age.
"I knew that fool was still keeping it! She thinks this is the era of prophets," said Zaituni.
"The way she was scared when we came here, I knew we'd brought a brand-new creature," Siyawezi added. "Come on, let's go sit by the doorway so they think we just went out and came back."
They moved closer to the house and sat quietly on the foundation, avoiding chatter for fear of being overheard.
That was the game of some girls — leading their friends into the same mess they were in. They'd mock and pressure others until everyone was alike. No one should be pure anymore — the door had to stay open.
They also used those moments to pull away anyone too attached to one boyfriend. They'd make them believe no man could ever be enough, turning them into restless wanderers — hopping from one pole to another as long as there was something to gain.
Siyawezi and Zaituni were well-experienced in such things. One of them had gone so far that she no longer cared about age or body size — whatever came her way, if it benefited her, that's where she went.
At an age when they should have been taught to understand themselves, they had long missed that lesson — and drowned in another world entirely.
They kept waiting for their friends until one door finally opened. Edwin came out first, followed by Faidha, who looked terribly shy. They joined the others silently. No one dared to start a conversation. Those with phones, usually kept hidden, pulled them out and scrolled just to pass the time while waiting for the rest.
At last, the second door opened. Emma came out, followed by Juli, who was walking unsteadily because of what had just happened inside. They joined the group, silence still hanging heavy around them — especially from the two girls, who couldn't even lift their eyes.
After a few minutes, Siyawezi broke the silence.
"Guys, tomorrow's school, huh? Can you believe how late it's gotten? Let's head home before we get yelled at."
She stood up; the rest followed. They said goodbye to the boys, who walked them to the road, then headed in their own direction.
---
"Rama, with all those exercises you like doing, even when you know you're not fully healed — it's better you stop altogether."
"Mama, come on. If I stop doing push-ups, what'll happen to me? I've been used to them for years. I'm just skipping now because of this wound — I'll continue once it's healed."
"Just stop, my son. I can already see trouble coming if you keep pushing it. And those pointless tempers of yours — if you'd used that hand with the old stitches, we'd be talking about something worse by now."
"Mama, this hand's fine, really. Don't worry. The doctor told me I can use it, just not for boxing again — a hit on the scar could mess everything up."
"Well, you're just as stubborn as ever. Farida, tell your brother something about his nonsense," she said, turning to her daughter.
Rama and his mother were arguing about his fitness routines. Seeing no end to the debate, Farida — who'd been quiet in the living room — was pulled in to advise her brother about his health. She looked at him for a few seconds before speaking.
"Brother, do you really have to live with those workouts? Plenty of people don't exercise and they're just fine."
"Kid, when you start training and step out, you'll understand what I mean. Workouts are my system now — just remind me to be careful when I heal, not to quit entirely," Rama replied.
"Mh! You see? We've hit a concrete wall. Once this boy holds on to something, he never lets go. That stubbornness is deep-rooted," Mama sighed.
Despite his athletic body, Rama had a history of neighborhood fights — and he often won them. But he carried a large stitched scar, one he guarded more than anything. He never let anyone touch it, fearing serious damage. Even his workouts were done carefully to avoid strain on that spot.
"But Mama, yesterday I saw something amazing — this guy's got an eye for quality. You've really got yourself a daughter-in-law," Farida teased, making her mother burst into a girlish laugh.
"Oh, you've started again! Go on, the driver's waiting outside to take you. School tomorrow."
"Look at you, if I say I'm not going, I'll just sleep here — you'll see how I can keep you company. Silly old man!" she giggled playfully.
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