Chapter 14: A Nine-Square-Meter Room
808 Words
Southport smelled different.
The moment I stepped out of the bus station, the air hit me with salt, diesel, and hot concrete. It was heavier than the city I had left. Wetter. Louder. Motorcycles buzzed past in every direction. Street vendors shouted over each other. Somewhere nearby, a truck reversed with a long, tired beep.
I stood at the station exit with my suitcase and backpack, suddenly aware that I knew no one here.
No one knew me either.
That was both terrifying and clean.
I turned on my phone.
Messages flooded in.
Three from Olivia.
Two missed calls from a recruiter.
One unknown number.
I ignored all of them and searched for cheap rooms.
The first place wanted three months' rent upfront.
The second smelled like mold so strong my eyes watered.
The third landlord looked at my suitcase and asked if I was running from debt.
"Looking for work," I said.
He laughed.
"Same thing, sometimes."
By sunset, I had walked through alleys so narrow two people had to turn sideways to pass. Laundry hung overhead like faded flags. Children ran barefoot between food stalls. Old men sat on plastic stools playing cards under a broken streetlight.
The room I finally took was on the fourth floor of a building that had no elevator.
Nine square meters.
One narrow bed.
One small desk with a water stain.
A wardrobe that leaned slightly to the left.
A window facing the kitchen wall of the next building.
If I stretched out both arms, I could almost touch two walls at once.
The landlady was a woman in her late fifties with sharp eyes and a louder voice.
"One month rent. One month deposit. Electricity separate. No cooking with open flame. No loud noise after eleven. If you bring trouble, you leave."
"I won't bring trouble."
She looked me up and down.
"People who say that often do."
I paid.
After she counted the money twice, her expression softened by half an inch.
"You came from out of town?"
"Yes."
"Looking for work?"
"Yes."
She handed me the key.
"Then work hard. In Southport, people who work hard may not get rich, but they won't starve."
I smiled.
"That's enough for now."
She gave me a strange look, as if she did not believe anyone could mean that.
When she left, I sat on the bed.
The mattress sank in the middle.
The room was hot.
Outside the window, someone chopped vegetables. A child cried. A woman cursed at a man for buying the wrong soy sauce.
Life pressed against the walls from every direction.
I opened my suitcase and hung my shirts in the crooked wardrobe. They looked ridiculous there. Office shirts in a room where the ceiling fan clicked like it might fall.
I took out the folder of evidence and placed it under the mattress.
Old life below me.
New life around me.
My savings, after rent and travel, were down to a little over two thousand.
I checked job postings.
Most office jobs wanted local experience, younger applicants, or clean references.
Clean references.
I closed the browser.
Then I searched temporary work.
Warehouse loader.
Food delivery rider.
Restaurant dishwasher.
Electronics factory night shift.
Twelve hours.
Weekly pay.
One meal included.
I stared at the listing.
Night shift factory worker.
Three months ago, I had been a client strategy manager at QinTech Solutions.
Tonight, I applied to stick labels on electronic parts.
The application form asked for previous work experience.
I wrote: Sales and operations.
It asked whether I could accept standing for long periods.
I wrote: Yes.
It asked whether I could work nights.
I wrote: Yes.
It did not ask whether pride could survive fluorescent lights.
Good.
I did not know the answer yet.
At nine-thirty, someone called.
"You applied for the night shift?"
"Yes."
"Can you come tomorrow at six in the evening for registration?"
"Yes."
"Bring ID. Wear dark pants. No slippers."
"Understood."
The call ended.
Just like that, I had work.
Not a career.
Not a comeback.
Work.
Enough for rent.
Enough for food.
Enough to not call Olivia.
I lay down on the narrow bed and stared at the ceiling.
The fan clicked.
Click.
Click.
Click.
My phone buzzed.
Olivia again.
I watched the screen light up in the dim room.
For a long time, I did nothing.
Then I muted her.
Not blocked.
Muted.
I was not ready for cruelty.
Only distance.
Outside, rain began to fall in Southport too.
It sounded different against the old window.
Less like a thousand fingers on glass.
More like someone washing a dirty street.
I closed my eyes.
Tomorrow night, I would stand on a factory line.
Tomorrow night, I would begin again from the bottom.
And for the first time, the bottom did not scare me as much as going back.
- Writer
