Susan dragged her luggage one piece at a time toward the front gate. The sky was getting even darker, and a tight, uneasy feeling settled in her chest. She worried it might start raining before she even managed to get inside.
She quickly pressed the doorbell mounted on the left side of the gate.
"Ding-dong!"
The sound echoed outside.
While waiting, Susan let her eyes scan the building. The house looked old—really old. From the way it stood, it was clear no one had renovated anything in a long time. The walls, once white, had faded into dull gray, with large patches of peeling paint. Cracks stretched along different sections, and moss clung stubbornly near the upper edges of the roof.
"How can grass even grow there…" she whispered at the little green strands sprouting from the cracks. Obviously, no one had bothered to pull them out, so they grew freely, decorating the wall like some kind of accidental modern art installation.
For someone with mild OCD, the view was torture. There was nothing she could do about it, so she simply turned away.
Don't look… don't look… it's not your problem. You're staying inside, the mess outside won't affect you…
She repeated the mantra over and over in her mind since the moment she arrived at the gate.
To distract herself, she shifted her attention forward. The gate had no solid wall—just a two-meter-high iron trellis—so she could easily see into the front yard.
Two big mango trees stood tall in front of the house, their thick branches spreading wide like giant umbrellas. The tops had clearly been trimmed often, stopping them from growing upward and instead letting them expand outward, forming a natural shade that blocked the house from direct sunlight.
At least these trees will keep the place cool on hot days, she thought. Honestly, that was the only good thing she'd found about the house so far.
At the very least, the place was only a five-minute walk from campus—meaning she'd save money on transportation and a lot of time.
A sudden drop of water hit her forehead. Susan flinched. The sky, already gloomy, had grown even darker, and a light drizzle had started.
"Ugh… where is everyone? Why is nobody opening the gate?" she muttered impatiently. She pressed the doorbell again—this time several times in a row, just to make sure whoever was inside definitely heard it.
Ding-dong… ding-dong… ding-dong…
The sound echoed her growing frustration.
Finally, a figure appeared.
A middle-aged man hurried toward the gate. He was skinny, his skin darkened and worn from years under the sun. His face was a map of deep wrinkles. He wore knee-length shorts and a dirty white singlet stained with old brown patches.
"Hello…" Susan greeted him politely, forcing a smile.
"Uh… ah… uuh…"
Instead of replying, the man waved his hands, motioning for her to enter.
Susan blinked in confusion—until she realized it.
He's mute.
"Oh—yes, I'm coming," she said quickly, dragging her bag through the gate.
The man closed it behind her and locked it with a loud clack.
"Uh… ah…" He gestured again, telling her to follow him.
Susan nod and dragging her two large suitcases inside. The threat of rain sent a rush of adrenaline through her, giving her just enough strength to haul both suitcases at once. She always wondered how adrenaline could make people stronger, faster, and more agile in moments like this.
The yard was paved with uneven blocks, making it almost impossible to roll her luggage smoothly. The rough surface made the wheels thud loudly with each bump—every thud sinking Susan's heart a little deeper.
If this suitcase gets damaged, Mom is definitely going to scold me again, she thought, already hearing her mother's voice in her head:
"You never take care of your things. Everything you touch gets ruined so fast."
Luckily, the distance from the gate to the front door wasn't far, so her guilty imagination didn't torture her for too long.
After she reached the balcony, she looked at the man.
"uh .. ah…" he give a sign for Susan to wait at the balcony.
"Ok, I will wait here," Susan response and stand at the balcony.
It was Susan's first time seeing this place, and every part of her still screamed at her to hate it. A tiny voice in her chest whispered for her to run away—call her uncle and beg him to fix this mistake. But deep down, she knew it wasn't a mistake. She let out another long, exhausted sigh and tried to push away her discomfort.
Outside, the rain had suddenly grown heavier. Good thing I got in on time, she thought with relief. The terrace roof and the large mango trees worked like a giant umbrella, keeping the rain from splashing in.
Her gaze drifted to the outdoor staircase next to the garage. She guessed it was the path to the tenants' rooms. The owner had clearly gone out of their way to maintain privacy—building an external stairway so the tenants wouldn't need to go through the main house.
Just then, the door behind her swung open.
"Who are you?!" A sharp, irritated female voice snapped.
Susan turned.
A middle-aged woman, looking like 60-something, in a brown batik house dress, stood there, hair messy, face twisted into a permanent frown. Every inch of her radiated annoyance.
"Uh… I'm the new resident. My name is Susan," she said politely.
"Hmph. So it's you." No warmth. No welcome. Not even basic courtesy. "Come in."
"Thank you," Susan replied quickly, reaching for her suitcase.
"You can leave your things outside. Nobody's going to steal them." Her tone was razor-sharp, dripping with judgment.
"O–okay." Susan set her bags aside, far enough from the rain splash zone, then slipped off her shoes and stepped inside.
"Sit," the woman ordered, already disappearing into another room.
Susan sat alone on the old sofa, eyes wandering around the living room. It was spacious… but filled with heavy, antique furniture. Several wooden carvings of Javanese men in traditional attire stood in the corners. Their hollow eyes and stiff expressions made Susan's skin crawl.
Please let my room not have these creepy statues…
Click.
Susan immediately looked toward the door. The woman returned, holding a folder and a set of keys.
"Okay, let me introduce myself. I'm Madam Tari, the owner of this house," she said dryly—like a boss scolding an employee. The way she addresses herself as "madam" surely shows she is snobby type person.
"Hello, I—"
"I know who you are. Save your introduction." She cut her off without hesitation.
Susan swallowed hard. As if the creepy house wasn't bad enough, now she had a landlady from hell.
"First—where's your photograph?" Madam Tari asked, hand raised impatiently.
"Oh—right." Susan scrambled for her bag, searching for the 4R photo her aunt told her to bring. She'd been confused why the house required such a large photo… but figured it must be some weird Jakarta paperwork requirement.
"Here," she said, handing the photo over.
Madam Tari examined it, then stared directly at Susan. It felt less like verification and more like… scrutiny. "Okay." She slid the photo into the folder.
"Do you know the house rules?" she asked suddenly.
"House rules?" Susan repeated, confused. No one had bothered to tell her anything.
"That woman who came last week didn't say anything to you?" Madam Tari snapped, her tone sharp and rude, as if Susan's ignorance was personally wasting her time.
"I… uh… I—"
Susan struggled to respond, completely unprepared for the question.
"Never mind. I don't have time for this shit," Madam Tari cut her off, clearly annoyed. "Just listen. I'm only going to say this once. There are a few rules in this house, and you must follow them. No questions."
"Okay," Susan replied softly, praying this unpleasant conversation would end soon. She's already my number one least-favorite person on earth, she thought bitterly.
"First—no guests staying overnight. Especially male. Understand?!"
The way she emphasized male was impossible to ignore. She stared straight into Susan's eyes, waiting for confirmation before continuing.
"Okay, I understand," Susan answered quickly once she realized the woman wouldn't speak until she responded.
"Good. Second, all tenant rooms are on the second floor. There's a staircase inside the house that leads to the third floor, but tenants are strictly forbidden from going up there. Understand?"
This time Madam Tari's expression was even harsher, making sure Susan didn't miss a single word.
"Okay, no third floor. Got it," Susan said, trying to give a polite smile, but Madam Tari only replied with a sour glare. Feeling awkward, Susan asked, "Anything else?"
Madam Tari stared at her, clearly catching the slight mocking tone, but chose to ignore it.
"Nope, that's all. And just to make sure we're clear—if I ever catch you breaking even one of these rules, you'll be kicked out. And your rental fee—paid a year in advance—won't be refunded."
She paused, looking almost satisfied, as if she enjoyed saying that part the most.
A year in advance? She might as well toss me straight into hell, Susan screamed internally. On the outside, all she could do was force a smile and nod.
"Okay, Here are your keys," she said, holding up a small keyring. "There are three keys: this first one is for the front gate," she explained, lifting one of the identical-looking keys. "The second one is for the second-floor entrance, and the third one is for your room."
Susan nodded as if she understood, though in truth, she didn't. The keys all looked exactly the same—how was she supposed to tell them apart so quickly?
"Your room right next to the entrance door, you will not miss it?" Madam Tari explain, ensuring Susan wouldn't come back to bother her.
"Oh ok, I will find it," Susan replied curtly, eager to end the conversation.
"Good. Your room is number 9. Each door has a number on it," Madam Tari added.
"Okay," Susan said.
"any question?" she ask, but obviously her expression show that she not welcome any question.
"nope, I'm ok," Susan quickly answered. The soonest she could run away from this women, its better.
"ok, now you can go to your room." she stand up and open the door, just like she want to kick Susan out from her sacred place.
Susan quickly get her bag and stand up and passing the door. After she step out, she turn her body willing to say thank you, but Madam Tari already closed the door, not even giving her time for saying any word.
What perfect hospitality, she thought sarcastically.
With a sigh, she gripped the handle of her suitcase and started dragging it toward the stairs.
The stairway was nothing more than coarse cement—no tiles, no finishing. The gray concrete looked worn, coated with layers of dust. The narrow walls on either side made the space feel cramped and suffocating. Above, cobwebs dangled undisturbed in the corners, as if no one had bothered to clean them in ages—not even the mute man.
About halfway up the stairs, there was a small landing where the staircase changed direction. Above this transition area, a round light bulb hung from the ceiling. Judging by its shape, it was likely one of those dull yellow bulbs that barely illuminated anything.
I can't imagine what these stairs would look like at night, Susan thought uneasily.
"Need some help?"
A sudden voice from behind startled her. Turning around, she realized she had been so focused on examining the stairs that she hadn't noticed someone standing there.
The girl behind her looked like one of the boarding house residents. She wore a black Metallica T-shirt and ripped jeans, the fabric torn in several places. A row of leather bracelets lined her left wrist. Her entire look screamed rebellious rocker, the kind of appearance that would make strict parents frown and whisper about that child being possessed by a demonic spirit.
Her lips moved rhythmically as she chewed gum, and in one hand, she lazily swung an umbrella still dripping with rainwater.
"It's okay, I can manage," Susan replied hesitantly.
In reality, she did need help, but deep-rooted Asian politeness made it almost instinctual to refuse assistance, even if she wanted it.
"Oh, come on, don't be shy," the girl said casually. She put the umbrella on the floor, allowed it to dry, and walk toward Susan. "Here, I'll help you take the big one. You can go back down for the smaller one later."
Her easy-going demeanour made it clear that she was the extroverted type—open, direct, and unconcerned with excessive formalities.
Susan smiled in relief, grateful that the girl insisted. She honestly had no idea how she was going to haul the larger suitcase up the narrow staircase by herself.
"Okay then, thank you so much," she said sincerely.
"Wait a sec," the girl replied, setting her umbrella against the edge of the garage. And walk back toward Susan.
"Alright, I'll lift the top, and you handle the wheels. Since the stairs are a bit narrow, it'll be easier if I go first and you follow behind, okay?" the girl said, gripping the handle of Susan's large suitcase.
"Okay," Susan nodded, squatting down to hold onto the rear wheels.
"One, two, three!" the girl counted before hoisting the suitcase.
Susan immediately stood up, trying to match her pace. They carefully ascended the stairs, one step at a time. Rainwater had splashed onto the concrete steps, making them slippery, and the dim light overhead forced Susan to move cautiously.
"Yeah! Made it!" the girl let out a relieved sigh as they reached the top.
Susan quickly set the wheels down, making sure the suitcase remained upright.
"Thank you so much," she said with a grateful smile.
"You're in room 9, right?" the girl asked.
"Yes, how did you know?"
"That's easy. I saw Joko, the house cleaner, preparing that room this morning," she replied with a grin.
"Oh, right," Susan said, chuckling. Joko, the mute man name.
"You should go grab your other suitcase. Oh, by the way, I'm Cynthia," the girl said, extending her hand.
"I'm Susan," she responded, shaking Cynthia's hand. "And thanks again for the help."
"No worries. We're all housemates—it's only natural to help each other," Cynthia replied casually.
Susan observed how effortlessly Cynthia interacted with people. She's probably the type who'll have no problem making friends on campus, she thought with a tinge of envy.
For Susan, befriending strangers—let alone feeling comfortable around them—was the hardest thing to do. She often wondered why some people could effortlessly connect with others while she struggled so much. Her mother always joked that she was like a refrigerator—cold by default, and only warming up when something inside was broken.
"Alright, go ahead and get settled. I'll drop by your room later tonight," Cynthia said casually, as if she didn't need an invitation.
"Oh… okay," Susan replied hesitantly.
To be honest, she was exhausted—both physically and mentally. Socializing with new people was the last thing she wanted to do today. But since Cynthia had been so friendly and had even helped with her luggage, it didn't feel right to refuse.
"Okay then, see you," Cynthia said as she walked toward the entrance leading to the residents' rooms.
"See you," Susan replied, shifting her large suitcase to the edge of the covered terrace. The terrace itself was surprisingly spacious—wide enough to fit around twenty people if they were standing. A low three-foot railing framed the sides, and the stack of plastic chairs piled up inside suggested this area doubled as a gathering spot for the boarding house residents at night.
She stood under the second-floor terrace, partially shielded by the canopy roof. It kept most of the rain away, but occasional splashes still hit her feet.
Without wasting time, she dragged her heavy suitcase into the main second-floor hallway, where all the rooms were, then hurried back down the stairs to get the second one. Once both suitcases were safe inside, she took a deep breath and looked toward the row of rooms ahead.
"Sigh…"
A long, tired breath slipped out as disappointment washed over her.
She turned her gaze toward the door of her assigned room—the place she would have to call home for at least a year.
I'm finding another place after this one year ends, she promised herself.
The owner had converted the entire second floor into a boarding house, squeezing ten small rooms into two tight rows that faced each other. The cramped layout made the hallway feel narrow and suffocating. Each room had a simple wooden door and a pair of cheap louvered windows. Behind them hung thin, low-quality curtains that barely hid anything—if someone stood close, their silhouette would show clearly whenever the light was brighter inside than outside.
Susan's room was the first one on the left, only a few steps from the entrance.
None of the rooms had private bathrooms. Instead, everyone shared a single toilet area with two small cubicles, located at the far end of the hall—right next to the staircase leading to the third floor, which was strictly off-limits. Beside the toilets was the bathroom area, which had two shower stalls separated by a thin partition.
"Knock… knock… knock."
Susan tapped the door three times.
It was a silly superstition, but one that many people in Asia followed. Every empty room was believed to have an unseen "resident," so knocking three times before entering was a sign of respect. After being forced by her mother to do it for years, the habit stuck with her.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor from inside the room.
She jumped, heart slamming into her ribs.
She'd only knocked out of habit. She definitely wasn't expecting anything to respond.
She stayed frozen, listening hard. Before she could be sure where the sound came from, another noise startled her—the sharp creak of a door opening beside her.
Susan yelped softly and spun around.
A girl with a fierce expression stepped out of the room next door.
"Phew…" Susan exhaled, relieved.
So that's where the noise came from. The girl must have moved her chair. The thin gypsum walls between the rooms were so flimsy that every little sound traveled through them.
Trying to hide her embarrassment, Susan offered a small nod. "Hi."
The girl shot her a cold look and replied dryly, "Hi."
Then she locked her door and walked away without a second glance.
Wow… what a friendly neighbor, Susan thought sarcastically.
Not wanting to deal with any more surprises, she quickly opened her door and dragged her suitcases inside.
The brief encounter made her uneasy. Looks like not everyone here is as friendly as Cynthia, she thought as she locked the door and flicked on the light.
The room was small and barely furnished. A cheap wooden bed with a thin foam mattress sat in one corner. At the foot of it stood a plastic wardrobe with a zipper down the middle. A simple study desk and chair were pushed against the wall, with a tiny bookshelf squeezed into the last bit of open space. A small mirror hung crookedly on the wall.
The dim overhead light only made the room look gloomier, and the wall beside the bed showed clear signs of water damage—bubbling paint and peeling patches that hinted at a long-term leak.
If she had to rate this room out of ten, the kindest score she could give was a 2… maybe a 3 on a generous day.
"At least I have a place to stay," Susan muttered, trying to stay positive.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead. Even with the heavy rain outside, the room felt warm and stuffy. Probably not enough ventilation, she guessed.
I need to buy a fan later.
Even though her uncle had paid for her tuition, housing, and monthly meals, her mom had still given her a little emergency money—and right now, this definitely counted as an emergency.
I shouldn't feel guilty. I need a fan to survive in here, she convinced herself.
I have to graduate with top grades so I can find a job quickly and help Mom.
That had been her mantra ever since she agreed to come to Jakarta.
Determined to get settled, Susan opened her suitcase and began carefully arranging her belongings in their places.