Wakayama, February 8th 2019, 9:35 A.M.

The women's shelter activity room smelled faintly of stale instant coffee. Morning light streamed through the narrow windows, falling across the laminated posters tacked to the wall—Know Your Rights, Ambulance and First Responders, Signs of Drug Overdose, Suicide Hotline, Essential First Aid, How to Do CPR.

Clara, Nardho, and Nardhia sat at one of the tables, joined by Anaya. She had brought a stack of flashcards with calm green borders and a soft voice that made the room feel less heavy.

"Alright, pay attention," Anaya began, turning over the first card. "Let's pretend someone comes to the school gate and says, 'Your dad wants you to come with him.' Ideally, what should you do?"

Nardhia pressed her palms together and glanced at her brother before answering. "We're not allowed to go with anyone unless Mom or Miss Anaya says so."

"Good. That's exactly right," Anaya smiled gently. "What if the person insists, or says it's an emergency?"

Nardho frowned, his small brow furrowing. "Then we notify the teachers right away. Or call the number on the card." He held up the laminated contact sheet clipped to his backpack. "It has Mom's new phone number and the shelter's address, too."

"Perfect." Anaya gave him a proud nod. "If your dad ever shows up, you're not in trouble for saying no. You're keeping everyone safe, okay?"

Clara had been quiet until then, her hands twisted in her lap. She finally spoke. "And what if—" her voice faltered, "what if the teachers believe Petrus instead of the kids?"

Anaya turned to her gently. "We've already talked to the school staff. They know only the people on your contact list are allowed to pick them up. And if your husband does appear, the school will call the police and alert us immediately."

Nardhia leaned closer to Clara, voice quivering. "W-What if Dad gets angry?"

Clara smoothed her daughter's hair, trying to steady the tremor in her own hand. "Then you do exactly what Miss Anaya said. You walk away. You find a teacher. You remember that you're brave."

Nardho looked up with a worried expression. "Mom, are we really safe now?"

Clara hesitated—but only for a heartbeat. "We're safer than we've ever been," she said softly.

Outside, the hum of a vending machine filled the quiet. The safety drill continued, each phrase rehearsed until it became muscle memory:

"We can't leave school with you."

"I need to tell my teachers first."

"Please call my mom."

Anaya's tone never wavered from calm and the children's voices grew steadier with each repetition. By the end, even Clara could almost believe that safety was something they could practice into being.

When the safety practice session ended, Clara helped the twins gather their things. Nardho stuffed his contact sheet carefully into the clear pocket of his backpack, while Nardhia stopped to give Anaya a shy hug.

By the time they returned to their shared bedroom, sunlight had softened to a milky haze behind the curtains. Clara made sure both children had something to occupy themselves with—coloring books for Nardhia, a small puzzle for Nardho—before stepping into the hallway for some privacy.

She sat down on the narrow bench near the vending machine, pressed the call button on her phone, and waited.

"Mom?" Johan's voice came through, sounding a little tired but still warm.

"Hi, Johan." Clara smiled instinctively. "We finished the safety drill with Anaya. Your siblings did really well. You'd be proud of them."

"I am," he said softly. "I'm proud of you too."

There was a small pause before Johan spoke again, a careful pause—the kind that meant he was deciding how much to tell his mother.

"Listen... I didn't want to worry you, but something odd's been happening."

"Something odd?"

"I've been getting missed calls. Different numbers, unlisted ones. It started a few days ago—just one here and there—but now it's happening five, six times a day." He exhaled. "When I tried ignoring them, I started getting unsolicited texts from new numbers. Nothing specific, but still threatening. Mostly things like 'I know where you are,' or 'Tell your mom to answer.'"

Clara shut her eyes, the old fear rushing back in. "Oh, this is bad..."

"I'm not sure it's Dad," Johan added quickly. "It could be some scammer or wrong number. But still, I thought you should know. Maybe make sure the staff at the shelter double-check who visits. Also, tell the kids' school not to share your information with anyone. Just to be safe."

"I will," Clara murmured, forcing her breath steady. "I promise. Are you okay? You didn't reply to those messages, did you?"

"Of course not. I blocked them. But I just wanted to be honest with you, Mom. We're not completely out of the woods yet."

Clara leaned against the wall, listening to his breathing through the phone. "Thank you for telling me. I know you didn't want to make me anxious, but I'd rather know. You've always been good at keeping me grounded."

"I learned that from you," Johan said. "We'll stay careful, alright? I'll let the police on campus know, just in case. Maybe they can trace the numbers."

Clara smiled faintly despite the chill running down her spine. "That's my sensible son."

"Take good care of the twins," Johan replied softly. "And keep that emergency bag packed, even if it feels unnecessary."

When the call ended, Clara lingered on the bench a while longer, staring at her reflection in the darkened phone screen. She told herself they were safe. Yet as the vending machine hummed behind her, the sound suddenly felt too loud, like a reminder that safety, for now, was still something fragile.

***

The following afternoon, Johan stood in front of the glass door marked Campus Security. His reflection looked unfamiliar—jaw set tight, circles under his eyes. The officer on duty, a middle-aged man with a kind but wary expression, gestured for him to come in.

Inside, the hum of computers filled the space. Johan explained the missed calls, the messages, and handed over a printout of the numbers he'd managed to log.

"We'll flag these and trace what we can," the officer said, typing quickly. "If you get more messages, save them—don't delete anything. And if you suspect this person knows your location, call us immediately, no matter the hour."

Johan nodded, grateful but exhausted. He left the office feeling as though air had grown thicker.

That evening, his apartment was quiet except for the clink of Kenta's spoon against a mug. Chandresh sat on the couch, half-leaning forward, arms resting on his knees.

"You sure it's him?" Chandresh asked.

"I can't prove it," Johan admitted. "But who else would be unhinged enough to harass me this way? My mom's hiding, the twins are in school. If he can't find them, I'm the next obvious target."

Kenta frowned. "That's not paranoia. That's a pattern."

Chandresh's gaze hardened. "Then maybe it's time to go elsewhere."

Johan looked up. "Go where?"

"My family's house," Chandresh replied simply. "It's in the northern part of the city. Umeda, to be precise. 40 minutes commute via the Kintetsu line, but you'll like it there. The neighborhood is made up of mostly Chinese families running businesses like humble noodle restaurants and dumpling stores. You could stay there until things calm down."

"T-That's... That's too much," Johan stammered. "I don't want to rely–"

"It's not," Chandresh interrupted gently. "Friends help friends. You think I can just do nothing?"

Kenta nodded. "He's right. You'd be safer there. I understand it's farther from your usual routes, but this might give you an advantage over your dad, since I don't think he'd expect you to be living with Chandresh's parents."

Johan exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It'd mean waking up earlier to catch the Metro. You know I already am sleep deprived.

"Better to be tired than found," Chandresh said quietly.

That made Johan pause. Then he gave Chandresh a weary smile. "You really don't let people argue with you, do you?"

"Not when it comes to safety."

Johan nodded, a faint tremor of relief threading through his chest. "Alright. I'll pack a few things tonight."

***

Johan arrived at the Dhillon house just past sunset, suitcase in hand. The neighborhood consisted of modest two-storied mixed-use buildings with flowerpots on the balconies and some windchimes playing soft melodies. Johan noticed some units had retail or commercial rentals on the ground floor with living quarters on an upper floor.  

Navrita met him at the door before he could even knock. "You must be Johan," she said, smiling wide. "Come in, come in. Chandresh told us you'd be staying a while.

Her tone carried no pity, only friendliness. She took his suitcase before he could protest.

Upstairs, the space smelled of lentils and turmeric, warm and earthy. The furniture was simple but polished, a few framed photos of Chandresh as a younger boy lining the hallway.

"You'll take the guest room at the back," Navrita said, leading the way. "It's a bit small but has natural lighting. Good for reading."

"Thank you," Johan murmured. "I really appreciate this. I don't want to trouble you."

"Trouble?" she raised an eyebrow. "Feeding you is not trouble."

Chandresh, leaning on the doorframe, chuckled. "I knew Ammi would start planning your meals before you even unpacked."

Navrita ignored him with practiced grace. "So, Johan, what do you like to eat? I know you're from North Sumatra, yes? Do you miss certain flavors? Jasmine rice, some tropical fruits? Tell me everything."

"I'll eat anything, honestly. I'm not a picky eat–"

She cut him off with a gentle wave. "I asked about your preference, not what you'll tolerate. There's a difference."

Chandresh grinned. "You can't win this one. Just say yes when she offers."

"Alright," Johan gave in with a laugh. "I like dishes with coconut milk. And I like chili oil. But please, don't go out of your way."

"I already go out of my way for everyone," Navrita said lightly, already turning toward the kitchen. "You'll fit right in."

Kiran entered then, setting down his briefcase near the shoe rack. He was quieter than his wife, his warmth understated. 

"Welcome," he said, shaking Johan's hand. "Chandresh already explained you might need some extra eyes on your way to campus."

"I—I can manage," Johan began.

"I don't doubt that," Kiran said, tone calm but firm. "Still, you know I'm heading that way every morning. And in the evenings, I'm often done by six or seven if my classes finish on time. You don't have to walk or ride the bus alone while things are uncertain."

The offer landed deeper than Johan expected. "Thank you, Professor. That's... very kind."

Kiran nodded, as if it were the most ordinary thing. "Family looks after family. Even a borrowed family."

Chandresh smiled at that. Even Johan found himself smiling too.

Navrita's voice called from the kitchen, "Mint tea or mango juice?"

Johan glanced toward the sound, his throat tight with gratitude. "Mint tea's perfect, thank you."

 For the first time in months, when he sat down at someone else's table, the air didn't feel like it could suffocate him.