Chapter 3: An Idiot in KL ; A Shield Wall in KL

(Darin’s Side)

August 2003. 01:15 AM. KLIA Arrival Hall.

The sliding glass doors hiss open, and a wall of thick, humid air hits me like a physical punch. This is it. Kuala Lumpur. The city of dreams... or in my case, the city of "What the heck am I doing here?"

I pull out the map Mom crumpled into my bag. My hands are shaking—not from fear, but from the sheer absurdity of what I’m seeing.

"Wait... let me check this again."

I squint at the red circle Mom drew with a shaky permanent marker. My eyes widen. My jaw drops. The location of the college isn't in the middle of the glittering skyscrapers I saw from the plane. It’s... tucked away. Surrounded by green patches on the map.

"Is this... a jungle? Did she send me to a forest reserve?!" 💢

I look around frantically, half-expecting a camera crew to jump out from behind a pillar. Am I being punk'd? Is this 'You Got Served'—Malaysian Edition? Am I going to spend the next three years fighting monkeys for a seat in a lecture hall?!

I trudge toward the arrival hall, dragging my suitcase which currently feels like it’s filled with lead bricks. Suddenly, a voice cuts through the ambient noise of rolling luggage and distant announcements.

"DARIN! DARIN MALI!!"

I freeze. Someone is holding up a cardboard placard with my name written in aggressive, blocky letters. I approach the duo standing there.

It’s the "Government Body" squad. My mom’s connections are truly terrifying. Even 1,600 kilometers away, she has "eyes" everywhere.

"So, you are Darin?" The man asks. He’s wearing a stiff batik shirt that looks like it was ironed with a steamroller.

"Yes... and you are?" I ask, trying to maintain some shred of dignity despite my oversized 'homeless' shirt.

"I’m Ramli, and this is Halinah," the man says with a professional, soul-crushing smile. "We’ve been assigned to assist you with your travels here. Your mother gave us very... specific instructions."

"Specific? Like what? 'Don't let him escape'?" I mutter.

Halinah, a woman with glasses so thick they look like bulletproof windows, checks a clipboard. "She mentioned you have a tendency to get lost in straight lines. We are here to ensure you actually reach the campus and not a random Mamak stall in Seremban."

The disrespect is astronomical. I can feel my Sabahan pride inflating like a pufferfish. 🐡

"Ah ha... um... okay. Thanks, I guess."

"Have you taken dinner?" Ramli asks as we head toward a white government-issued Proton Wira parked at the curb.

"Uh... nope."

I think back to the "special gift" from the air stewardess. My "legendary romance" fantasy was crushed within minutes. Her "special gift" wasn't a phone number or a secret note—it was just an extra piece of cold, rubbery airline chicken she "found" in the galley.

Special? My foot. I chewed that chicken with the bitterness of a man who realized his life isn't a romance anime; it's a survival horror.

"Good," Ramli says, popping the trunk. "Because where we’re going, the only thing open is a 24-hour KFC, and you look like you’re about to faint from the culture shock."

I climb into the back seat of the Wira. The car smells like lemon air freshener and old files. As we pull away from the futuristic lights of KLIA and head toward the dark, tree-lined highway, a sense of dread settles in my stomach.

"Hey, Encik Ramli..." I lean forward. "This college... it has walls, right? It’s not just a bunch of tents in the woods?"

Ramli just chuckles—a deep, ominous sound that does absolutely nothing to calm my nerves.

"Don't worry, Darin. In KL, the jungle is made of concrete. But the predators? They’re very, very real."

I sink back into the seat, clutching my Nokia 3310. Predators?

The first day hasn't even started, and I already want to go home.

(Dina Side)

The bus door hisses open. Welcome to Shah Alam. It’s too early. The sky is a weird purple-grey, and the air feels like a warm, wet blanket. My sister, Mimi, is already in "Engineer Mode." I’m in "Please Let Me Sleep" mode.

We find a coffee shop. The lights are flickering. Buzz. Buzz.

"Dina. Registration. When?" Mimi asks. She’s staring at me over her coffee.

"Uh... today? Maybe?" I dig through my bag. Old receipts. A random wrapper. "Found it. 2 PM. I have time to die and come back to life."

"Great," Mimi says. Her face gets serious. The Talk is coming. "Dina... talk to Dad. He’s our father. I know since that incident things are... weird."

I look away. A plastic chair is more interesting than this conversation. "It’s not hate, Mimi. It’s just... men. The way they act. The way they look. That 'I’m the boss' vibe. It pisses me off."

Mimi sighs. It’s a long, tired sound. "Just do it for him?"

"I’ll see." (Translation: Absolutely not.)

"Anyway," Mimi smirks. "Mom messaged. Did we pray? Or are we still heathens?"

I bark out a laugh. "Don’t look at me! You haven't seen a prayer mat in months, Miss Big-Shot Engineer!"

"Grrr!" Mimi bares her teeth. Total 💢 energy.

"Whatever," I stand up. My stomach is growling. "Food. Now."

"Fine! But you’re buying!" Mimi points a finger like she’s in a courtroom drama.

"Ehh?! For mee goreng? Fine, whatever. Let’s go."

The Transformation

We’re at the bus station now. People everywhere. Students, travelers, uncles. It’s a crossroad. Our lives start here.

Suddenly, Mimi stops. She starts circling me. Her eyes are like a predator.

"Wait. Stand still."

"What? Mimi, you’re scaring me."

"Shirt? Fine. Jeans? Okay. Shoes? Standard." She steps closer. Her aura is glowing now. Intense Stylist Energy. "But your hair... Dina, it’s a disaster. It looks like a bird’s nest had a fight with a lightning bolt."

"Hey! It’s called 'style'—"

LUNGE.

Before I can move, she’s on me. Combs. Hair ties. Pure sisterly violence. My messy curls are wrestled down. Combed flat. Yanked up.

Snap!

She stands back. She’s literally sparkling. 🤩 "Yes! You look... POP!"

5:45 AM. The bus to the University is packed. It’s a sea of freshmen. I look around. Everyone is dressed like they’re going to a corporate wedding. Girls in pristine baju kurung. Guys in stiff office shirts and ties.

Then there’s me and Mimi. We look like we’re heading to the mall for a movie.

One guy—some suit-wearing nerd—stares at us. He looks like he’s judging my soul. My eye twitches. "Is there a problem, sir?" I snap.

"Uh, no... but are you actually students here?" he stammers.

"Yeah. Got a problem with that?"

"Well... you look cute, girl," he says, suddenly growing a pair of wings and "charging" toward Mimi. He’s trying to be smooth. It’s pathetic.

CRACK.

My foot finds its target. Square in the "family jewels." The guy hits his knees. His face turns the color of a ripe eggplant. "Why... why would you do that...?" he wheezes.

The entire bus goes silent. I can hear a pin drop. "Sis, it’s okay! I’m good, trust me!" Mimi says, waving her hands frantically. She isn't even looking at the guy on the floor. She’s looking at someone outside.

"FIRDA!"

A girl approaches. No, not a girl. A giant. She’s at least 5’9. Lean. Long legs. She looks like a supermodel who wandered onto the wrong campus.

"Hey, Mimi babe!" Firda beams.

"Hey! About time!" Mimi pulls me forward. "Anyway, this is my twin sister!"

Firda’s eyes go wide. "REALLY?! You look exactly the same!"

Yeah. I’m the twin. Two minutes older. Two minutes saltier.

"So... we good?" I ask, checking the perimeter.

"Yeah! Come on, let’s hang out. Your registration isn't until 2:00 PM anyway," Mimi says.

The Reunion of Rivals

We’re walking through the campus. It’s nice, I guess. Green. Sunny. Suddenly, a familiar face appears. A guy. He looks at me, and his eyes practically pop out of his head.

"So... you’re really here..." he mutters.

I don't say a word. I just reach into my bag and pull out my hockey stick. "HEY! HEY! NOT FUNNY! NOT FUNNY!" he screams, backing up like I’m a ghost.

"Looking for revenge, aren't ya, ?" I smirk.

"No! Heck no! I ain't getting close to you, but she is—"

WHAM.

A "gentle" low blow with the hockey stick. Not enough to break anything, but enough to make sure he remembers me in his nightmares.

A group of girls nearby starts cheering. "Wow... go girl! Jazzy never stops annoying us!"

One of them, a girl named Nira, looks at Mimi. "Ah, Nira... that’s my big sis you’re talking about!" Mimi laughs.

Nira freezes. She looks at me. Then at the hockey stick. "Wait... you’re kidding. The girl from the Penang Girls' Convent? The 'No Filter, No Mercy' Dina?!"

"And you are?" I ask, leaning on my stick.

"Hehehe!" Nira grins. "We’re from rival schools, you know? Hang rasa biaq pi la!"

She’s speaking that thick Penang slang. Okay. At least she’s got spirit.

Meanwhile... Darin’s Side (The Wake-up Call)

I snap awake. Where am I? The air is stale. The light is blinding.

"Guys? Halinah?"

Nothing. Silence. I look down. There’s a piece of paper on my chest.

"Sorry Darin. Your mom told us that once we reach the place, just drop him somewhere safe. See you next time! — Halinah"

Drop? I’m a human being, not a sack of rice!

I stand up, brushing the dirt off my clothes. I look up at the building in front of me. It’s a college. But not a nice one. It looks like it was built during a war and then forgotten.

"What the hell..." I mutter. "Mom... Dad... what kind of 'safe place' is this?"

It looks like a damn jungle. A concrete, messed-up jungle. And I’m standing right in the middle of it.

“Are they sure they sent me at the right place?” Me

The apartment building in front of me looks like it has witnessed crimes.

Not normal crimes.

The kind of crimes where someone whispers,
“Don’t go inside…”
and the main character still goes inside.

The paint is peeling.
The corridors are narrow.
The fluorescent light above the entrance flickers like it’s deciding whether to live or die.

Bzzzt.
Bzzzt.

A stray cat stares at me from the staircase.

Even the cat looks suspicious.

I slowly turn my head.

And then I see it.

A banner.

Crooked. Half-torn. Hanging like it’s ashamed of itself.

“College of Dreams… Welcome Batch 2 – Year 2003”

…

I squint.

“…The hell am I looking at?”

College of Dreams?

More like College of the Hopeless.

This is not what I saw from the plane.

From 30,000 feet, KL looked like:
✨ Towers
✨ Neon lights
✨ Ambition

From ground level?

It looks like:
💀 A budget horror film location
💀 Where hopes come to die

“This… this is just a normal building…” I mutter.

And then—

OH SHIT.

My brain suddenly restarts like a Windows 98 computer.

“What am I supposed to take?!”

😱

Documents?
Offer letter?
Passport copy?
Birth certificate?
Did Mom pack my soul too?

I panic-dial home.

Ring.
Ring.

“Salam, Mom!”

“Yeah?” she answers calmly. Too calmly.

“What am I supposed to take?!”

There is a pause.

Then—

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! NOW YOU THINK ABOUT IT?!!!”

The laugh echoes through the Nokia speaker like a villain monologue.

I slowly lower the phone.

I hang up.

“…Typical.”

Mom didn’t raise sons.

She raised prey.

She is the lioness of the family.

All boys.
Only one step-sister.
And she uses sarcasm like a sniper rifle.

And here I am.

Released into the wild.

7:00 AM – The Office of Doom

I drag my bag toward what looks like an office.

The shutters are closed.

Locked.

Of course they are.

It’s 7 AM.

Registration probably starts at 9 or something normal.

So now I’m just standing here…

Looking like an idiot.

Great.

Fantastic.

Legendary start.

I glance left.

Glance right.

No one around.

Hehehe.

I reach into my pocket.

Cigarettes.

If adulthood is confusing…

Might as well smoke like a confused adult.

I sit on the concrete steps.

Light it.

Inhale.

The smoke rises into the quiet morning air.

Wind blows.

Birds chirp.

An old uncle walks past.

He stares at me.

The stare of:

“You are not from here.”

Yeah.

I know.

I exhale slowly.

Maybe this is the wrong place.

Maybe Mom got the address wrong.

Maybe Ramli dropped me in the wrong jungle.

If this is wrong…

I can call Mom.

Ask for more money.

Hehehehe 😈

Yes.

This could be a strategy.

Operation: Strategic Confusion.

Survival Planning Mode

Alright.

Think.

You have:

Plan.

First: Place to crash.
If dorm sucks… maybe construction work again.

Geo’s dad taught me some basics.
Carrying cement.
Mixing concrete.
Surviving shouted insults.

But where’s the construction yard here?

I look around.

Trees.

Random shop lot.

Suspicious building.

No cranes.

No workers.

No sound of drilling.

This feels less like development…

And more like abandonment.

“Whatever… think later…”

The Folder of Destiny

I open the folder Mom gave me.

Documents.

Forms.

Photocopies.

And then—

“What the heck is this?”

A small plastic thing.

Thumb drive.

Dad’s voice echoes in my head:

“Since I don’t want you wasting money on floppy disk, use this. It’s the future.”

The future?

It looks like a tiny piece of plastic.

I snort.

“Yeah, sure. Future.”

I dig deeper in the bag.

Wait.

Wait.

…Wait.

“Hey.”

That’s…

My laptop?

It’s small.

Black.

Serious-looking.

IBM.

It feels… important.

Like a businessman tool.

It has only one USB port.

One.

That’s it.

This thing looks like it could survive war.

At least I have that.

Laptop.
Charger.
Thumb drive.

Okay.

Maybe I won’t be completely useless.

The Silence

The wind blows again.

Birds scream somewhere in the trees.

The place is too quiet.

Too peaceful.

It doesn’t feel like a college.

It feels like a location where someone disappears.

The old uncle passes again.

Still staring.

Why is he looping around?

Is he a security guard?

Or just judging me?

I take another drag.

Smoke curls upward.

For a second…

I imagine this place at night.

Empty corridors.

Footsteps echoing.

Doors slowly creaking open.

“Don’t be dramatic, Darin…”

I slap my cheeks lightly.

Focus.

The Door Opens

Then—

Click.

A metal door creaks open.

I freeze.

There.

Across the small courtyard.

A sign above the door:

Cahaya Institute of Technology

Cahaya.

Light.

Technology.

That sounds way more legit than “College of Dreams.”

Maybe the banner is just… budget marketing.

A man steps out.
Stretching.
Yawning.

He sees me.

I see him.

We stare at each other like two NPCs loading dialogue.

“Uh…”

He raises one eyebrow.

“You here for registration?”

“Yes!”

Too loud.

Too desperate.

He nods slowly.

“Course?”

…

…

…

My brain goes blank.

Course?

What course?

What did I even apply for?

Did Mom choose it?

Did Dad choose it?

Did I choose it?

Was I even conscious when applying?

I swallow.

“Uh…”

My entire adult future depends on this answer.

And I don’t even remember what I signed up for.

What course?

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

What if I accidentally signed up for something insane?

What if it’s accounting?

What if it’s nursing?

What if it’s cooking?!

I stand there.

Smoke still in hand.

Laptop under my arm.

Staring at the man.

And for the first time since landing in KL…

I realize something horrifying.

I may have come here…

Without even knowing what I’m becoming.

That sentence echoes in my skull like a prophecy.

The man at the door gestures with two fingers.

“Come. Main lobby.”

Main lobby.

That sounds official.

That sounds like adulthood.

I follow him inside.

The hallway smells like old paint and ambition that expired in 1997.

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead like they’re whispering secrets.

We step into the “main lobby.”

It’s… small.

There’s a counter.
A plastic chair.
A dying potted plant fighting for survival.
And a framed motivational quote crooked on the wall:

“Your Future Begins Here.”

It looks like it regrets being printed.

The guy sits behind the desk and pulls out a thick file.

“Anyway, don’t worry about choosing later. We’ll discuss about it,” he says casually.

Choosing later?

Choosing what?

My career?
My destiny?
My funeral package?

He looks up.

“May I know your name, kid?”

Kid.

I swallow my pride.

“Darin Bin Mali.”

He scribbles it down.

“Which school?”

Why school?

I’m not going back to school.

I survived school.

I escaped school.

Why are we reopening trauma?

“Samuel College,” I answer flatly.

He nods.

“Okay… assuming you are born in 1985?”

“Yeah… do I need to tell that?”

“Yep.”

Why “yep” so confidently?

“13 March 1985.”

He pauses.

Tilts his head.

“Hmm.”

“…What?” 💢

“Sounds like bad luck.”

My eyebrow twitches.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He flips pages dramatically like he’s searching for my criminal record.

“Let’s see…”

Silence.

Paper flipping.

Clock ticking.

My future hanging by a paperclip.

“Ah… yes… interesting.”

Interesting?

WHAT IS INTERESTING?!

He closes the file.

“Anyway. Dorm arrangements will be arranged soon. Feel free to use the library first. Leave your stuff here.”

He looks at my luggage.

“…Only one backpack? And a military bag?”

“…Yeah.”

His face slowly changes color.

Concern.
Confusion.
Fear.

“Is it okay if I leave this here?”

“Sure. Let me help.”

He grabs the military bag.

His body immediately sinks.

“What are you carrying in here? Bricks?!” 🥵

“It’s light…”

I lift it with one arm.

He stares at me.

“Right. Sure. Of course.”

He gestures weakly.

“Just leave it there.”

He writes something on a sticky note.

Probably:

“Watch this one.”

The Library of Hollow Dreams

I walk toward the library.

The door creaks open like it’s been disturbed from a long sleep.

Inside…

Silence.

No students.
No chatter.
No energy.

Just rows of shelves.

And those shelves…

Are almost empty.

This is not a library.

This is a storage room with identity issues.

Dust particles float dramatically in the sunlight like they’re auditioning for an emotional scene.

I step inside slowly.

Every footstep echoes.

I sit down.

The chair makes a dramatic creaking noise.

“Welcome to the battlefield of knowledge…” I mutter.

I scan the shelves.

Three accounting books.
Two outdated programming manuals.
One motivational book titled:

“Believe in Yourself 1994 Edition”

This is tragic.

At the counter sits a man.

Serious.
Unmoving.
Staring at a computer monitor like he’s decoding the Matrix.

He senses my presence.

Slowly lifts his head.

“Yes. How can I help you, kid?”

Kid again.

I squint.

“…I thought ladies handle the library.”

Silence.

He adjusts his glasses.

“I hope I disappoint you.”

“Yep. I don’t care anyway.”

I walk closer.

“So… how do students find materials here?”

He leans back.

“Well… usually… you have to buy the books.”

My brain stops.

“Buy?”

“Yes.”

“Like… really buy?”

“Yes.”

“What about borrowing?”

He looks at me like I just asked for magic.

“Try your luck with seniors. They might lend you.”

…

I slowly turn around.

Look at the empty shelves.

Look back at him.

“So… this is not a library.”

“It is.”

“No. This is an information center.”

“It is a library.”

“Where are the books?”

“Students buy them.”

“So what are these shelves for? Decoration?”

He stares at me.

Unblinking.

“…Kid.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“…Kid.”

He sighs.

“This is Cahaya Institute of Technology. Not Oxford.”

That hurts.

Not physically.

But spiritually.

I look at the barren shelves again.

My wallet suddenly feels thinner.

RM600.

Minus food.
Minus transport.
Minus survival.

Minus books.

I feel a chill.

This place isn’t a college.

It’s a financial ambush.

I sit back down.

Cross my arms.

Think.

Think like a survivor.

Okay.

No dorm yet.
No course confirmed.
No books.
Suspicious building.
Empty library.
Heavy bag.
Limited money.

And I still don’t know what I’m studying.

Suddenly—

The librarian speaks again.

“You look lost.”

“I’m not lost.”

“You look like you are.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About?”

“…What course I’m even in.”

Silence.

He slowly removes his glasses.

“…You don’t know?”

I stare at him.

He stares at me.

The air between us thickens.

Somewhere in the building, a door slams.

Wind whistles through the corridor.

This is it.

This is the moment.

I might be the only student in history who enrolled without knowing what he enrolled in.

My adult life is now a mystery box.

And I didn’t even read the label.

The librarian leans forward.

“Kid… what exactly did you apply for?”

I open my mouth.

Nothing comes out.

My brain reboots.

Loading…

Loading…

Error.

Fatal error.

System crash.

😑

“…Umm… not sure… seriously…” I admit.

The librarian studies me like I’m an unfinished assignment.

“Well then,” he says slowly, adjusting his glasses, “this is a good place for you.”

I blink.

“In this empty place… for you to find out.”

…

What kind of philosophical budget-Yoda line is that?

But the annoying part?

It makes sense.

I don’t know my course.

I don’t know my direction.

I don’t even know what I’m becoming.

And I’m sitting in a half-empty library in a suspicious college that looks like it survived a minor war.

Maybe this is symbolic.

Empty shelves.

Empty head.

Future pending installation.

I grunt and walk deeper inside.

The Discovery

I wander past three sad shelves of outdated textbooks.

Accounting 1998.
Windows 95 Programming.
“Motivation for Winners.”

This place is a museum.

But then—

At the far corner.

Near a narrow window.

There’s a small hidden space.

A little wooden table.
A single lonely chair.
Sunlight slipping through the glass like it’s trying to comfort the building.

Dust floats in golden beams.

It’s quiet.

No noise.

No judgment.

No “kid.”

No admin guy flipping pages.

No suspicious uncle.

Just wind.

And birds.

And light.

I step closer.

This… is good.

Very good.

I drop into the chair.

It creaks, but not in a death way.

In a loyal way.

I stretch my legs.

Lean back.

The sun hits half my face.

“Nice…” I mutter.

This is it.

My headquarters.

My temporary kingdom.

My Zen spot.

Even if the library is empty…

This corner isn’t.

It feels like a pause button.

For the first time since landing in KL…

My shoulders relax.

Internal Monologue – Volume 1 Energy

Okay.

Situation report.

But.

I have:

Maybe…

Maybe this isn’t hopeless.

Maybe this is level one.

Every guy starts somewhere stupid.

And I started in a budget horror campus with a broken banner.

Fair.

I cross my arms.

Look at the ceiling.

“What am I becoming…”

The question echoes.

The sunlight shifts.

Wind blows through the window slightly.

The campus is still quiet.

Too quiet.

My eyelids get heavy.

It’s been a long night.

Plane.

Stress.

Mom’s laughter.

Special “extra chicken” humiliation.

My brain is overheating.

I lean sideways.

Rest my head on the table.

Just for a bit.

Just five minutes.

Power nap.

Strategic energy regeneration.

The Calm Before Everything

The library hums softly.

The librarian types in the background.

Somewhere outside, a metal door shuts.

A distant echo of footsteps.

But I’m already drifting.

Half asleep.

Half awake.

Sunlight warming my face.

For a moment…

KL doesn’t feel like an enemy.

It feels like a loading screen.

Blackness creeps in slowly.

And in that darkness…

Something shifts.

Not outside.

Inside.

This isn’t Sabah anymore.

This is a reset.

And I don’t even know it yet.

My breathing slows.

I fall asleep in my self-proclaimed kingdom.

Unaware…

That in a few hours…

This exact library…

This exact corner…

To be continued.