"It's not fair," Aina murmured.
Aina walked home with Li Qin. The rain had stopped. The sun was fierce now, drying the pavement in patches. They passed the mosque, the Chinese temple, the little Hindu shrine tucked between two shoplots. A familiar sound drifted from an open window – someone practicing the piano. Chopin. Aina recognized it from her own piano lessons, which she had quit three years ago because there was no time. Budak Sekolah Tunjuk Burit
They laughed, and then they walked their separate ways, two students in blue pinafores, carrying backpacks full of books, dreams, and the quiet, stubborn hope that all the pressure and the early mornings and the endless exams would somehow, someday, lead to something beautiful. "It's not fair," Aina murmured