That morning felt even heavier than the last. Tara sat listlessly at her desk, scribbling half-hearted notes while her mind drifted to her dwindling bank balance. Every word from the lecturer sounded like a distant, distorted hum. It was as if the university world was built only for those who were already settled, not for someone like her, who had to count every single rupiah just to make it through the day.
After class, she trudged back to the boarding house. The scorching sun bit into her skin, beads of sweat clinging to the curve of her slender neck. At the minimarket, she only dared to buy a pack of biscuits and a single bag of cheap instant noodles. Even that made her chest tighten—how much was actually left in her wallet now?
When she pushed open the gate, the hallway was eerily quiet. Only the low hum of a fan drifted from Elvira's slightly ajar door. The scent of frying oil and cheap perfume still hung thick in the stagnant air.
Tara headed straight for the kitchen to tuck her new noodles into the food rack. Elvira was already there, one leg hooked over her chair, a cigarette tucked between her slender, graceful fingers. Her messy, reddish-brown hair spilled over part of her face, which was damp and bare of makeup. Her eyes caught the flicker of the neon light as she watched Tara, as if she had been waiting for this exact moment.
"Back from campus?" Elvira asked, her voice low, almost lethargic.
Tara nodded, forcing a tired smile. "Yeah... I'm exhausted."
Elvira merely shrugged, exhaling a slow plume of smoke. Then her eyes traveled downward, tracing Tara from head to toe—a long, lingering look that seemed to read something Tara didn't even realize she possessed.
Elvira didn't look away. Tara froze in place, feeling as though a spotlight had been turned on her.
"You're too thin," Elvira remarked finally, her tone flat. "Your collarbones are practically jutting out from under that shirt."
Tara instinctively looked down at herself. The thin gray t-shirt she wore was loose, but the sharp lines of her bones were visible beneath the fabric.
"But you're striking..." Elvira continued, narrowing her eyes. "Your skin is clear, bright, dewy. Your hair is soft—it falls perfectly. Your eyes are large, beautiful... but you look... spent."
Tara forced a small laugh. "I am spent, Kak."
Elvira clicked her tongue, her lips curling into an amused smirk. "'Kak' this, 'Kak' that... drop the titles. Just use my name when you're with me."
Tara gave a small smile. "Okay... Elvira."
"Where was I? Oh, your look... it's not just physical exhaustion," Elvira said softly, leaning forward now. Her gaze was piercing—not judgmental, but as if she were trying to peel back the layers of Tara's chest. "You have the face of someone who is desperate to survive. It's different. It stands out. It's like looking at a version of myself from years ago."
The words felt like they were stripping Tara bare without a single touch. She straightened her back, her cheeks flushing hot.
Elvira leaned back again, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. "You have something not many people possess—a combination of fragility that makes people want to protect you. Rich men... they crave that."
Tara frowned. "Rich men? What do you mean...?"
As she asked, she stood up to grab a plate from the rack, then returned to the table. She sat slowly across from Elvira and opened the small pack of biscuits she'd bought.
Elvira didn't answer immediately. She watched Tara with a faint, knowing smile, as if weighing something monumental. Her eyes drifted to the small package in front of Tara, narrowing slightly as she observed the slow, careful way Tara ate.
"Is this what you eat every day?" Elvira asked quietly, almost in disbelief.
Tara gave a wry smile. "I don't have much choice. It's cheap... and it keeps me full."
"You moved to a city this big all by yourself, only to starve?" Elvira murmured, this time without the mocking edge. "Why force yourself to go to university here?"
Tara looked down for a moment, then gave a soft shrug. "In the beginning... everything was fine. When I applied, my mother was still healthy; she could still work. I thought, you know... this was my time to get out of the village, to get a higher education. But then she had a stroke. She can't work anymore. Now Dini, my sister, has to look after her while finishing school." She took a shallow breath, staring at the biscuit in her hand without really seeing it. "I'd already registered and been accepted, so... I just went for it. The plan was to find a part-time job while studying."
Elvira snorted, tapping the ash from her cigarette just to create a pause. "Doing what?"
Tara shook her head slowly. "I don't know. I'm completely blind when it comes to this city."
"Is there even a job that fits a student like me here, El?" she asked then, her voice a mere whisper, half-hopeful.
Elvira let out a short chuckle. "I wouldn't know. Do I look like I'm working right now?" She raised both hands, gesturing to her relaxed, messy life, and laughed—a sound that was more self-deprecating than humorous.
Tara offered a thin smile, though her eyes remained bleak.
"And... where's your old man?" Elvira asked suddenly. The tone was level, but it didn't feel like an interrogation.
Tara went quiet. Her gaze dropped to the table. She shook her head—not out of hesitation, but as a refusal to speak of it.
Elvira watched her for a few seconds, then let it go. She leaned back, drawing slowly on her cigarette, holding the smoke before releasing it into the increasingly stifling air.
Several seconds of silence passed before Tara spoke, her voice small and brittle. "He... he had an affair. Then he ran off with her."
Elvira arched an eyebrow, a cynical smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Ah... men are bastards. Same story everywhere." She tapped the ash from the end of her cigarette as if punctuating her words.
Tara just gave a small shrug, half-agreeing, half-reluctant to go any further. A shadow of bitterness crossed her face, but she quickly looked down, biting into her biscuit.
Elvira leaned into the backrest of her chair, her expression shifting for a moment—from cynical to flat, almost bored with the tragedies of life. She took a long breath and looked at Tara again.
She paused. Her gaze softened, then slowly mapped Tara's face. The straight, petite nose; the thin lips with a natural flush that looked like permanent tint; the wide, bright eyes that made Tara look perpetually startled; the skin that was clear and radiant despite never seeing the inside of a salon. Elvira's gaze dropped further: the long neck, slender shoulders, small waist, and the long legs that, despite being wrapped in faded jeans, looked perfectly proportional.
"Do you realize how beautiful you are, Tar?" Elvira finally said, her lips curving into a sharp smile.
Tara chuckled awkwardly. "Beautiful? I'm a mess."
"I'm serious." Elvira leaned her back against the chair, her eyes still dissecting Tara. "You have something that makes it impossible for people not to look. And sometimes... people like you have an easier path to get out of life's miseries."
Tara knit her brows. "What? What do you mean?"
Elvira gave a light shrug. "Well... look, if you want a part-time job, I don't have any info on that yet. Maybe you can ask the other girls. Like Nisa, she works at a boutique; maybe they need extra hands."
Tara nodded slowly, though she didn't look convinced. "Yeah... I'll try asking later."
Elvira stared at her for a long time, then leaned in, her voice dropping an octave, as if sharing a dangerous secret. "But... there is another way. An easier way. And... you already have most of the capital for it."
Tara stared at her, confused.
"Listen," Elvira continued, lounging back in her chair. "I know someone. His name is Victor. He's... incredibly wealthy. Seriously, he has money to burn. But he's not like most guys. He doesn't like drama; he doesn't like the chase. Usually, he just looks for a companion for dinner, someone to go out with... light conversation. Sometimes... more than that, but only if you're willing."
Elvira paused, her gaze sharp yet strangely tender.
"And... he's not the type to play games. He likes women who can keep a secret, who can handle themselves, and who... know when to be there and when to disappear. If he's comfortable, he can make your life a whole lot easier. But if not, he can vanish just like that."
Tara froze, her mouth slightly agape, trying to digest the words one by one, like a puzzle whose pieces didn't fit.
"If you want, just give me your number. I'll pass it to him. He'll be the one to reach out first," Elvira added casually, watching Tara with a faint smile that was hard to read—somewhere between pity and temptation.
Tara didn't answer right away. She looked down at the few remaining crumbs of her biscuits, then slowly gave a nearly imperceptible nod.
***
Hours later, in the stifling heat of her room, Tara stared at her phone screen. A new message appeared.
Victor: Good evening, Tara. I'm Victor. Elvira mentioned you... she said I would be interested. I'd like to find out if she was right.
Tara's heart hammered harder than usual.
Her fingers froze over the screen, as if every letter she typed could alter the course of her entire life. Her mind jumped to her mother's face—lying frail in bed, her hand stiff and half-paralyzed, still trying to smile as Dini fed her cold porridge. Then to the mountain of tuition bills, the rent, and the stomach she had lied to far too often with nothing but plain water.
And now... a short message that could open the door out of all of it—or plunge her into somewhere much darker.
Tara suddenly realized she had forgotten to ask what he even looked like. What if... he was some bloated old man with a hanging gut, greasy skin, and heavy, lustful breath? She swallowed, feeling a sudden wave of nausea just imagining it.
Her feet were cold, despite the heat in her body. She closed her eyes, took a shallow breath, and opened them again. The message was still there, glowing brightly on the screen of her old phone—a screen that was dull and slow to respond to touch, as if it were holding back her hesitation with her.
Tara knew that if she replied... there would be no turning back.
The screen dimmed. Tara stared at her own reflection in the black, hazy glass.
For the first time since moving to this city, she felt truly alone—and truly dangerous.