The morning air under the huge durian tree was thick with the scent of damp earth and the heat of an early sun. Haya, Amar, Zul, and Danish were already moving, their clothes stuck to their backs with sweat. The physical toll of the previous day hung heavy on them, but they pushed forward, dragging the heavy crossbeams into place. Haya felt a strange pressure behind his eyes—a buzzing that wouldn't go away.
The humidity was thick enough to swallow. Under the canopy, the boys were struggling with the main roof beam.
"On three! One... two... lift!" Amar's voice was strained, his neck muscles popping.
"My arms feel like overcooked noodles," Zul wheezed, his face a bright shade of crimson. "Danish, tell me your math accounted for us being remarkably weak."
Danish didn't look up from his level. "My math is perfect. Your gym attendance is the variable, Zul. Hold the damn beam straight!"
Haya said nothing. He was bracing the corner, his eyes fixed on the rough bark of the durian tree. Every time he blinked, a jarring distortion pulled at his vision—the solid, deeply grooved trunk of the durian tree seemed to warp, momentarily shifting into the slender, weeping form of a young casuarina tree, its branches thin and needle-like, whispering with a wind that wasn't there.
The rumble of engines cut through the morning, signaling the arrival of the cavalry. Annis's brother, Zaki, and Hanna's father, Pak cik Idris, pulled up on their motorcycles, their work boots crunching on the dry leaves. They were professional construction workers, and they didn't waste a second.
Zaki took one look at the lopsided roof beam and barked out a laugh.
"Hey, Amar! You building a wakaf or a trap for your enemies?" Zaki joked, dismounting and tossing a heavy impact driver from his kit.
"We were getting there," Amar replied, wiping sweat with his shoulder.
Pak cik Idris walked up to the pillars, knocking on the wood with a thick knuckle. "Foundation is solid. Good work. But you lot are nailing this like you're afraid to hurt the wood. Move aside, boys. Let's show you how it's done. We'll have this roof on before the afternoon rains."
He turned to Haya with a fatherly nod. "Go get some water, son. You look like you're staring through a wall."
With the pros leading, the construction moved at a blistering pace. By early afternoon, the heavy structural work was entirely finished. The raw timber pavilion stood complete, sturdy and beautiful under the shade of the orchard.
As the heat of the afternoon settled, a collective exhaustion hit the group. Everyone retreated to the shade of the house porch to rest, drinking cold syrup water and letting the breeze dry their sweat. The only ones left active were the girls. Annis, Hanna, and Inari had already begun hauling out cushions, mats, and strings of fairy lights to decorate the finished structure.
Haya sat on the porch step for a few minutes, his eyes locked on the wakaf. The visual glitch from the morning still lingered like a stain in his mind. Needing a distraction from his own thoughts, he stood up, brushed the dirt from his pants, and walked over to the tree.
"Hey," Haya said, approaching the platform where the three girls were untangling a mesh of warm yellow lights. "Need an extra hand with the decorating?"
Inari didn't even look up from her knot, snorting loudly. "Please. You'll just tangle the wires worse than they already are. Go back to sleep, Haya."
Annis waved a hand dismissively, matching Inari's blunt energy. "Yeah, no thanks. This requires an eye for aesthetics. You'll just put things in the wrong corner and ruin the vibe. Go rest, we've got this."
Hanna, however, looked up and offered a soft, apologetic smile, trying to soften the blow. "It's okay, Haya. You guys did all the heavy lifting all morning. You should really rest your arms. We can handle the cushions and lights from here, but thank you for asking."
"You sure?" Haya asked, lingering by the edge of the wooden deck.
"Enisya! Help me with this corner!" Annis called out, drawing Inari away.
Hanna nodded gently at Haya, stepping closer to the edge to hang a lantern from the eave. "We're sure. It's almost done anyway. It really looks beautiful, Haya. Your mom is going to love it."
"Yeah. I hope so," Haya murmured, his eyes tracking the line of the wooden beam.
Just then, a sudden, sharp gust of wind swept through the yard. It whistled fiercely through the leaves, catching Hanna's hair and whipping the long, dark strands directly across her face and over her shoulder. She laughed softly, reaching up to tuck the wild locks behind her ear.
The world instantly dissolved.
The modern yard, the half-hung fairy lights, and the sound of Inari and Annis arguing over cushion placement vanished into a crushing silence. The heavy, sweet scent of the durian orchard was violently replaced by the sharp, briny tang of sea salt and the crashing of distant waves.
He wasn't seventeen. He was nine or ten, standing on the edge of a shoreline.
The wind was blowing fiercely, but it wasn't catching Hanna's hair. It caught the dark, silky strands of a young girl wearing a white summer dress. She was standing at the entrance of a small, crude shack made of scrap wood and palm fronds—a childhood playing base built right against the coastal sand, shaded by the weeping branches of a young casuarina tree.
She turned halfway toward him, her face obscured by the bright glare of the coastal sun, but her laughter was clear, breathless, and sharp as a bell.
"Haya-kun! Look!" her voice echoed, vibrating through the center of his chest. "We finished the base! Now we can be together the whole day as long as we want."
The sea vanished. The casuarina tree snapped back into the massive trunk of the durian tree.
Haya didn't gasp. He didn't jump or show a shocking, wide-eyed ghost-bump expression. Instead, a deep, heavy confusion settled into his features. He stood perfectly still, his gaze fixed forward, looking straight through Hanna's face. He was completely detached from the yard around him, his mind trying to bridge the impossible gap between the two worlds.
Hanna had gone back to threading the wire, but she could feel the weight of his stare. She adjusted a lantern, her movements slowing down as a slight, self-conscious shyness crept into her expression. She had noticed from the very start that he hadn't looked away.
"Haya?" Hanna asked quietly, a little flustered, finally looking up to meet his blank eyes. "Are you okay?"
Haya blinked, the phantom shoreline finally receding from the edges of his vision. "Yeah. I'm okay."
Hanna paused, studying his face. He still looked entirely distant, his thoughts clearly pulling him somewhere else. "What's wrong, really?"
Haya let out a quiet breath, considering the chaotic rush of images in his head. He looked at the massive durian tree, then back at her. "No... it's nothing. I think I might just be seeing things."
"Hmmm? Maybe you're just too tired," Hanna said, her tone softening with reassurance. "Go and rest more. I mean, it's honestly ridiculous that you guys finished building this entire hut in just two days, right? It makes sense that your brain is fried. Just go get some more rest."
"Okay... thanks, Hanna." Haya turned to step away, but her voice stopped him.
"Well... you can ask me anything, you know. Haya."
Haya paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Eh? Why is that?"
Hanna offered a small, earnest smile, gesturing faintly to his face. "It's just because... you look kinda confused. Like you're trying to figure something out."
"Ouh... uhh..." Haya's hand instinctively drifted to the back of his neck, his eyes darting toward the porch where Amar was standing by the tool chest. "It's nothing."
By 5:00 PM, the decoration was fully completed, and the atmosphere shifted into a celebration. Annis, Hanna, and Inari had transformed the raw timber skeleton into a warm, inviting space filled with woven mats and bright cushions.
From the kitchen, their mother's voice drifted across the yard, rich with pride. "Food's ready! If you don't come now, the neighborhood cats are getting the grilled fish!"
The evening became a blur of laughter. Instead of heading home early, Zaki and Pak cik Idris stayed, joining the rest of the family and the teenagers under the golden glow of the hanging lanterns. They feasted late into the night on the massive spread their mother had prepared—rice, perfectly charred grilled fish, rich, spicy curry, and traditional sweets. Zaki and Pak cik Idris dominated the conversation, telling loud, exaggerated stories of their own construction mishaps over cups of hot coffee. For a long time, watching the laughter ripple through the lit pavilion, the heavy secrets of the day felt momentarily buried.
When the night finally wound down and the food was long gone, the two men stretched, packed up their final belongings, and kicked their motorcycles into life. Annis and Hanna climbed on behind them, waving goodbye as the two bikes rumbled down the dark driveway, their taillights disappearing into the village night.
The house went quiet once more. The four boys laid out their sleeping bags on the fresh-smelling timber of the completed open hut , staying behind to spend the night in the structure they had built.
Zul and Danish fell asleep almost instantly, exhausted by the relentless labor. Zul was already snoring, his arm draped over his face, while Danish lay still, the blue light of his phone illuminating his tired eyes for a few minutes before he too drifted off.
Amar sat at the edge of the platform, his legs dangling over the side, staring out into the dark orchard.
Haya lay on his back, staring up at the thatched roof, the image of the white dress and the coastal shack still burned into his mind. The "as if alone" feeling had changed. He wasn't alone because he was empty anymore—he was alone because he was the only one left carrying the weight of a forgotten shoreline.
"Amar," Haya whispered into the dark.
"Yeah?"
"When I was a kid... was there someone else? A girl in a white dress?"
The silence stretched, long and suffocating. In the shadows, Haya couldn't see his brother's face, but he heard the distinct, sharp way Amar's breath hitched—just for a single second.
"Go to sleep, Haya," Amar said softly, his voice heavy. "Sorry , but not today . I gotta rest ."
"Sorry.., good night Amar"
Haya closed his eyes, pulling the blanket up. He didn't need Amar to answer. The silence was the answer.
.