Stories

I stepped off the yellow bemo, clutching my backpack as the late afternoon sun painted Jetis Kulon 3 in dull gold. The scent of fried tofu from a nearby stall clung to my fingers — leftover from the quick bite I grabbed at the campus canteen. I hadn’t had lunch. Again. But my stomach wasn’t growling. My mind was too busy replaying a conversation I overheard at the library earlier. “She just bought the new iPhone Pro. Her dad owns three minimarkets now. Crazy, right? Last semester, she was still using a cracked Oppo!” I smiled. It was always something like that. These stories of sudden wealth floated around campus like perfume — sweet, strong, and sometimes a little suffocating. They called them the new rich . People who once stood in the same muddy lines as the rest of us but now wore perfume from department stores and carried designer tote bags. Their houses used to have bamboo fences. Now, they had smart locks and marble tiles. And then there was me. At twenty-two, I didn...