Morning sunlight streamed through the gaps in the wooden walls of Aira's house, scattering dusty beams of light across the sewing table.
The acrid smell of the oil lamp's wick, which had gone out the night before, still lingered in the air, mingling with the aroma of cold stir-fried water spinach she hadn't managed to finish.
Aira woke with her body curled up on a long wooden bench covered only by an old bed cover. There was no soft mattress or sofa in this house inherited from her late mother. Her younger brother had pawned everything to fund his journey overseas to work in the fishing industry.
As usual, stiffness and soreness began to spread through her back, but the burning pain in the pit of her stomach that had tormented her the night before had subsided, leaving behind the mild nausea typical of pregnancy.
She gently caressed her belly, feeling the faint movements of her unborn baby, as though it were greeting the morning.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Aira whispered with a faint smile. “We have to work again today. Don’t be fussy, okay?”
Relying on Mbah Sri’s promise from the night before, Aira hurried to tidy up her work area. She stuck the sewing needles neatly into the pincushion, cleared the scraps of fabric from the cement floor, and swept away the thin layer of dust clinging to the front door with a twig broom.
She carefully tucked the fifty thousand rupiah Mbah Sri had given her into the pocket of her duster. It was her main capital for getting through the day.
Around nine in the morning, the sound of unhurried footsteps approached her front door. Aira, who was arranging her sewing threads, immediately turned around, a hopeful gleam in her eyes.
“Excuse me... is this Aira’s house?”
A somewhat thin, middle-aged woman with a friendly face stood in the doorway. She was hugging three sets of elementary school uniforms that looked slightly too large.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s right, I’m Aira. Please come in, ma’am,” Aira greeted her as quickly as possible, trying to put on her best smile even though the awkwardness from yesterday afternoon’s incident still lingered.
“I’m Mrs. Sumi, Mbah Sri’s neighbor,” the woman said amiably, without even a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She placed the stack of uniforms on the sewing table. “Mbah Sri said you could take in uniforms. These are my youngest child’s clothes. I bought them too big. Could you make the sides smaller and shorten the bottom?”
Aira promptly took the fabric measuring tape hanging around her neck. “Of course, Mrs. Sumi. I’ll measure the chest width and the length first. Should you bring your child here, or do you have a shirt that fits as a reference?”
“I do. Here’s the old shirt to use as a size guide,” Mrs. Sumi replied, handing over a used shirt that had grown somewhat faded.
For a while, the cramped room once again filled with the warm conversation of a seamstress at work. Aira carefully recorded the measurements in her shabby notebook.
The confidence that Bu Lisa’s abuse had crushed the day before slowly began to rise again. There were still good people in this village. There was still honest work she could pursue.
“How much is each uniform, Aira?” Mrs. Sumi asked as she prepared to leave.
“Twelve thousand per set, ma’am,” Aira replied casually.
“Oh, that’s so cheap. All right, then. I’ll give you a thirty-thousand-rupiah deposit first, and pay the rest when I pick them up, okay?” Mrs. Sumi said, handing over the bills.
Aira accepted the money with both hands, which trembled slightly. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Sumi. They’ll be finished and ready for pickup tomorrow afternoon.”
After Mrs. Sumi left, Aira didn’t waste any time. She quickly cut the patterns, neatened the fabric edges, and began pressing down on the sewing machine pedal. The clattering sound of the sewing machine once again broke the silence of the house, drawing her into a soothing rhythm of work.
But that peace didn’t last long.
Around midday, when the sun stood directly overhead and the air inside the house grew unbearably hot, a shiny black sedan appeared, moving slowly along the dusty village road.
The presence of a luxury car in a remote village area like this was extremely rare. Several villagers sitting at the security post and on their house porches immediately stood up, staring curiously at the vehicle reflecting the sun’s glare.
The black sedan slowed, then finally stopped right in front of the rented house where Aira lived.
*Screeech...*
The car’s brakes squealed softly against the gravel.
Aira stopped pressing the sewing machine pedal. Her heart suddenly raced—not from the pain in the pit of her stomach like the night before, but from a familiar anxiety. An anxiety that hurled her back into the dark memories of six months ago in the city.
The rear window of the car slowly lowered. Behind the dark-tinted glass, a man in a neatly tailored suit and sunglasses stared straight at Aira’s dilapidated house.
The man didn’t get out, but the front driver’s door opened. A broad-shouldered man dressed in black safari-style clothing stepped out of the car, then strode purposefully toward Aira’s front door.
Aira sat frozen in her sewing chair. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat.
She recognized the car’s license plate. She recognized it all too well.
“They’ve found this place...”