Chapter 2: Do I Even Have Time to Study?! (Dina the male hater)

August 2003. Butterworth, Penang.

The humidity in Penang doesn't just cling to you; it tries to drown you. I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, my eyes locked on the entrance of the luxury hotel where I’m finishing my final shift as a part-time receptionist.

I am Dina Binti Yunus.

Growing up in one of Penang’s roughest neighborhoods has taught me one universal truth: If you don’t show your teeth, someone will try to pull them out. I don’t do "damsel in distress." I don’t do "sweet and innocent."

"Dina! Room 402 needs extra towels! Move it!" the manager barks.

I don't blink. I just give him a look so cold it could probably air-condition the entire lobby. He flinches. Good.

My life is a constant balancing act. My mom is a brilliant doctor, currently working overseas to provide for us, leaving me as the de facto enforcer for my four siblings which my older brother is working/training as a pilot while my big sister is a marketing manager in a well known hotel that I work now. And then... there’s him.

My father. A retired military officer. A man who spent his life talking about "honor" and "discipline" in the Malaysian Armed Forces, only to use that same discipline to systematically betray our family. He had the gall—the absolute audacity—to take a second wife while my mother was away saving lives.

Since then, every man I see is just a potential traitor in a better-fitting shirt.

Bzzzt.

A sharp, stinging sensation pricks the back of my neck. My heart suddenly feels heavy, like someone dropped a lead weight into my chest.

Mimi.

I have a twin sister, Mimi. She’s the "prodigy" of the family—the one who got the better grades (by a narrow, annoying margin) and the one the relatives always praise. But we share something they don’t understand. A psychic tether. A twin bond.

Right now, she’s feeling anxious. Which means she’s thinking about our departure to Kuala Lumpur.

"Dina... are you okay? You look like you're about to punch a wall," a coworker whispers.

"I'm fine," I snap, my voice like a whip. "I'm just thinking about how much I hate the color of this lobby."

It’s a lie. I’m thinking about the fact that tomorrow, Mimi and I are heading to a college in the city. A place crawling with guys who think they’re "alpha males." Guys who think a fancy car and a smooth tongue can buy a woman’s soul.

I look at the clock. Every second that passes is a second closer to leaving the island.

"Mimi," I whisper to the air, knowing she can hear me somewhere in the back of her mind. "Don't be scared. If any guy even looks at you the wrong way in KL, I’ll make sure he forgets how to walk."

The intensity of my own spite surprises me. But that’s my role. Mimi is the brain. I am the shield.

The drama of our family—the whispers of the "second wife," the empty chair at the dinner table, the military-grade tension—it’s all being packed into my suitcase.

I don’t care about "The College Experience." I don’t care about making friends. I have one goal: Get the degree, protect my sister, and never, ever let a man get close enough to see the cracks in my armor.

KL is a big city. Plenty of places to hide. Plenty of places for a "Man-Hater" like me to thrive.

Or so I thought.

The sun sets over Butterworth, turning the sea into a sheet of liquid gold, but my mood is pure charcoal.

I am a Mamak girl—a sharp, tan mix of Indian and Malay blood. My skin is darkened by years of sprinting across field hockey pitches and thousands of hours in the Taekwondo dojang. Between me and Mimi, we have enough black belts to choke a man.

I’m currently finishing my final shift at the hotel. My legs ache, but I stand tall. I have to.

"Dina... hey, Dina," a voice crawls toward me.

It’s Pian. The local "hero" who thinks a cheap motorcycle and a loud exhaust make him a prince. He’s been pestering me for months, hovering like a mosquito.

"Pian. Move. You’re blocking the airflow," I say, my voice a flat, dangerous line.

"Garang-nya (So fierce)!" he smirks, leaning on the counter. "Just one drink before you head to KL? For old times?"

My internal barrier—the "Anti-Man Shield"—slams shut with a sound like a hydraulic vault. I see right through him. He doesn't want "one drink." He wants a trophy. He wants to say he "tamed" the fierce girl of the neighborhood.

"In your dreams, Pian. Go bother someone who cares about your exhaust pipe."

I walk away. My hands are calloused from work and sport, but they’re honest. I’m using every cent I’ve earned here to pay for this Psychology degree—a temporary pitstop mom forced me into while I wait for my real dream: Nursing. My Great Grandmother was a war nurse in WWII, a woman who stood amidst the fire. I have her blood. I don’t need a man to tell me my worth.

The Zen Fortress

I walk home through the winding alleys. From the outside, our house is a deceptive, shabby relic. The paint is peeling, and the roof looks like it’s holding on by a prayer.

But as I step inside, I smirk. 😈

The exterior is a lie to keep the world away. Inside, it’s a luxury sanctuary—Mom’s hard-earned doctor’s salary turned into marble floors, soft lighting, and my "Zen" room. My room is my fortress. It’s the only place where the world stops trying to touch me.

Then, the peace is shattered by a cough.

Dad is sitting in the living room, a cloud of cigarette smoke swirling around his head like a dark omen. He’s a retired military officer, but lately, he just looks like a man who’s lost his soul to a second wife.

"Dina. Make me a coffee," he drones.

I head to the kitchen. I make him a coffee, alright. It’s 95% water, 5% hope. It’s so light it’s practically see-through. I slam the cup on the table.

"Is this coffee?" He frowns, staring at the beige liquid.

"Yeah. Just drink it and be grateful!" I snap.

"Come on... I need the energy to settle these bills..."

"THEN GET A JOB TO PAY THEM!" I roar. "Instead of looking for 'love' elsewhere while Mom works her life away overseas!"

The air in the room turns heavy—pure Intense Drama mode. The silence is broken by Mimi, my twin. She glides in like a cooling breeze, the smarter, calmer half of our bond.

"It’s okay, I’ll do it," she says softly, taking the cup. She makes him a proper, dark brew—the "Better Daughter" coffee.

Dad takes a sip and sighs. "With an attitude like yours, Dina, you aren't going to find a good husband. No man wants a cactus for a wife."

I glare at him, my eyes burning. "Do I look like I care?! I’d rather be a cactus than a doormat for a man like you! At least Big Brother Zanri is going somewhere!"

"He’s lucky I have friends in the military," Dad grunts. "Wing Line Airlines pilots... they know my name. I paved his way."

"At least he's using it!"

I storm off to my room. The injustice of it all fuels my packing. My mom is a doctor saving lives, yet my father thinks he "wasn't loved enough," so he found a second wife. Men... they’re all bottomless pits of ego.

The Departure

Night falls. A battered old car pulls up. Out steps Zara, our big sister. She’s ten years older, sharp-tongued, and clearly inherited Dad’s "military" charisma.

"So... are you two ready for the big trip?" Zara asks, leaning against the car.

We head to the bus station. I watch as Dad approaches the ticket counter. This is the only time I’m actually impressed by him. He starts talking—no, he starts maneuvering. He haggles, he charms, he uses "Old Soldier" slang. Within minutes, he has a massive discount on our bus tickets to KL.

He has a silver tongue. A weaponized way of speaking. I see it in Zara, too.

But I didn't inherit the silver tongue, I think, clutching my bag. I inherited the iron fist.

As we board the bus, Mimi catches my eye. We don't need to speak. The "Twin Link" tells me everything. We’re leaving the island. We’re heading to the city of concrete and lies.

I sit by the window, my hockey stick tucked safely in the luggage hold. Let the KL boys come. I’ve been training my whole life for a fight they don't even know is coming.

The bus engine idles with a low, bone-shaking rumble, spewing a cloud of black diesel smoke into the Bukit Mertajam night. Mimi looks at me, her expression unreadable under the flickering fluorescent lights of the station.

"We have to go our separate ways once we arrive," Mimi says, her twin-link sending a wave of logical calm my way. "Or do you want to follow me to Selangor first?"

I adjust the strap of my heavy bag, my knuckles white. "Yeah, sure. I’ll follow you for now. I don't even know where my college is located in that concrete maze anyway."

"Okay," she nods.

We board the bus. The interior smells of mothballs, old upholstery, and stale air-conditioning. We find our seats, but before I can even settle my hockey stick, the "First Boss" of the trip appears.

He’s a guy who clearly spends too much money on hair gel and not enough on a personality. He’s wearing a tight shirt, a fake gold chain, and a smirk that says he thinks he’s the main character of a romance anime. He’s "trying his luck," and unfortunately for him, my luck ran out three years ago.

"Hey, girls..." he purrs, leaning against the headrest of our seat. "Heading somewhere fun? Where to?"

I don't even look up. "To hell. Want a one-way ticket?"

The guy blinks, his smirk faltering for a microsecond. "Yikes! That’s scary! Going to KL is heaven compared to this boring island, you know. You need a guide?"

I turn my head slowly, giving him my signature 'Predator' stare. "Really? I think you need to check your eyes the moment we arrive. I hear there’s a great psychiatric hospital in KL. It’s perfect for people with delusions of grandeur."

Mimi says nothing. She just opens a thick engineering textbook, her silence acting as a cold front.

But this guy? He’s persistent. A total mosquito. He ignores the 'No Fly Zone' and moves even closer, his arm brushing against Mimi’s space. An aunty sitting across the aisle clears her throat loudly.

"Hey! Stop pestering the girls, ya! Let them rest!"

"You shut up, old lady! Mind your own business!" the guy snaps, his "handsome" mask slipping to reveal a glimpse of the trash underneath.

That’s the trigger.

In an instant—faster than a Penang lightning storm—my leg snaps out.

THWACK.

It’s a perfect, point-blank Taekwondo strike delivered with the precision of a master. My foot connects directly with his "lower treasury."

The guy’s eyes bulge. His face turns a shade of purple I’ve never seen in nature. He collapses into the aisle, wheezing like a broken accordion.

"KYAAAAA!" I scream at the top of my lungs, my voice shifting into 'Victim Mode' with Oscar-winning speed. "THERE IS A PERVERT HERE! HE TRIED TO RUB HIS REAR END AGAINST MY LEGS! HELP!"

Mimi doesn't miss a beat. She looks down at him with a face of pure disgust, her acting as sharp as mine. "EW! Gross! He’s really a pervert! Get away from us!"

"H-hey...!" the guy wheezes, clutching his crotch, tears streaming down his face. "You’ve got it... wrong... the girls... they..."

"GET OUT OF THIS BUS!" The bus conductor, a burly man who clearly doesn't have time for nonsense, stomps over. "We don't tolerate your kind here! Out!"

The "Handsome Guy" is literally dragged off the bus. He stands on the pavement, hunched over like a shrimp, shaking a trembling fist as the doors hiss shut. "I won't... forget this...!"

"Whew." I sit back down, smoothing my hair as if I didn't just commit a tactical assault. "Less trouble for the rest of the trip."

Mimi goes back to her book without a word, but through our link, I feel a tiny spark of amusement.

One pervert down, I think, looking out the window as the bus starts to move. A million more to go in KL.

August 2003. 11:45 PM. North-South Expressway (PLUS Highway).

The world outside the bus window is a blur of obsidian and sodium-vapor orange. The rhythmic thump-thump of the tires against the asphalt acts as a metronome for my racing thoughts.

I, Dina, lean my forehead against the cool glass. Every time we pass a highway lamp, a flash of light cuts through the cabin, illuminating Mimi’s sleeping face for a fraction of a second before plunging us back into darkness.

The highway is a river of light heading southbound. I watch the green overhead signs whip past: Ipoh... Tapah... Tanjung Malim... Each one is a milestone marking my distance from the only home I’ve ever known.

Why does the heart feel heavier the faster the bus goes?

I catch my reflection in the dark glass. My eyes look sharper than usual, glowing with a mix of defiance and exhaustion. Behind that reflection, I see the ghost of my father’s disappointed face, and the shadow of the second wife I’ve never met. My grip tightens on my bag.

KL isn't just a city, I think, my breath fogging the window. It’s a furnace. I’m going there to be forged into something that can never be broken again. No more tears for Mom. No more mercy for men.

Meanwhile, 30,000 feet above the Titiwangsa Range...

I, Darin, am jolted awake as the aircraft hits a pocket of turbulence.

Creeeeeak.

The plane groans like a giant metal beast. I look out the small, oval window. Below us, the peninsula is a carpet of velvet black, veins of golden light carving through the jungle. That’s the highway. Somewhere down there, thousands of people are chasing their dreams at 110 km/h.

I pull out my Nokia 3310. No Signal. I look at the blank screen. I think about Geo’s fist-bump. I think about the "Pizza Betrayal." I think about the moldy mattress waiting for me back in Sabah—or rather, the lack of one.

The air stewardess walks by, her heels clicking rhythmically. She glances at me and winks, remembering her promise of a "special gift." My heart hammers against my ribs. Is this the start of a legendary romance? Or am I just a Psyduck about to fly into a glass wall?

"Ladies and gentlemen," the captain’s voice crackles over the comms, sounding like a bored god. "We have begun our descent into Kuala Lumpur International Airport. The weather is clear, and the temperature is a humid 28 degrees."

The plane tilts. The lights of the Klang Valley begin to swarm the horizon—a glittering, neon sea of concrete and ambition. It looks beautiful. It looks terrifying. It looks like a place that doesn't care if I exist.

The Convergence.

One is traveling by land, fueled by spite and a hockey stick. One is traveling by air, fueled by a bank card and a Nokia 3310.

Two different paths. Two different hatreds. But the North-South Highway and the flight path are narrowing, drawing a giant 'X' over a small college in the heart of the city.

The suspense in the air is thick enough to choke on. The drama is coiled like a spring.

I stare out the window—whether it's glass or acrylic—and see the same moon.

"KL," I mutter to my reflection.

"Kuala Lumpur," Dina whispers to the highway.

"Get ready. Because I’m coming for you.”