Badang and Badrul were identical twins and the sons of Tok Hussein. But what set them apart were their personalities.
Badang was kind-hearted and always ready to help others at any time. Meanwhile, Badrul was a bit mischievous and liked to cause trouble.
Because of this, he was often compared to Badang and labeled by the villagers as the "evil twin."
At home, Badrul was frequently scolded by Tok Hussein for all the problems he caused—like letting Tok Kadir's chickens loose, startling people with firecrackers, and scribbling on other people's houses.
"How many times have I told you not to cause trouble and burden the family!"
"That's enough, dear," said Mak Sari.
"Go to your room. Now!"
Badrul went to his room with several cane marks across his back. Badang, seeing this, took some gamat ointment from the table and called out to him.
"Badrul, come here."
Badang applied the gamat to Badrul's wounds.
"Ouch, that hurts."
"So you do feel pain. Then why keep causing trouble?"
"Hmph."
"Badrul, why do you like causing trouble for the villagers?"
"You wouldn't understand how I feel, even if I told you."
"Sigh…"
The reason Badrul caused so much trouble was because—ever since he was a child—he had never received attention from Tok Hussein or the villagers. He felt like nothing more than a stranger who happened to share the same face as Badang.
After finishing the treatment, Badang went to his bed and fell asleep. Badrul waited until he was sure Badang was asleep… then slipped out through the window.
Badrul cleaned up all the mess he had made—scrubbing the walls he had vandalized, watering the villagers' plants, and feeding their livestock.
He had been doing this for two years.
He knew what he did was wrong. So, he would clean up the damage he caused—after everyone in the village had gone to sleep.
What he didn't know was that his actions were being watched by two children hiding behind a tree.
After finishing all of it, Badrul sat down to rest for a moment before heading home.
He looked up at the beautiful full moon and let out a weary sigh—his soul burdened by life.
"Hah… why did my life turn out like this…"
"… Just because we were born as twins, I've always been compared to Badang."
"… Can't they, just once, see me not as Badang's shadow… but as my own person?"
Tears welled up in Badrul's eyes, but he wiped them away. He knew—there was no use in crying. It wouldn't change how the villagers saw him.
Badrul stood up and returned home through his bedroom window.
The next morning, while Badrul was sitting alone on a bench facing the field, he was approached by a young boy and girl.
"You're Badrul, right?" asked the girl.
Badrul looked at them, puzzled. This was the first time someone other than his family had approached him.
"Yeah. Why?"
"Can we sit here with you?" the girl asked again.
"Sure," he replied.
The two of them sat next to Badrul, making him feel a bit uncomfortable—he wasn't used to anyone sitting beside him, other than Badang.
"Hey."
"What?"
"Why aren't you playing with them?" asked the boy, pointing to a group of kids playing football.
"Heh… You think they want to play with me?"
"Why not?" added the girl.
Badrul looked at them with a slightly puzzled expression.
"Haven't you two ever heard about me?"
"Badrul—a kid who's often said to be a troublemaker and always causing chaos in the village," answered the boy.
"And you're asking a question you already know the answer to? Who even are you two?"
The two of them introduced themselves.
"My name's Samar. And she's Nisa."
"Hi," said Nisa.
"What do you two want with me?"
Nisa leaned in closer to Badrul's face, making his cheeks turn slightly red.
"We saw what you did last night."
Badrul was startled. He didn't know anyone was still awake at that hour.
Nisa glanced toward the boy beside her, curiosity growing in her eyes.
"I've heard all kinds of things about you. That you like to cause trouble, harass the villagers' livestock… and so on…"
"Hah?" Badrul's expression shifted into one of confusion.
"… But after seeing what you did last night, I realized… not everything people say is true," said Nisa.
"But… I don't get it. Why don't you just show the villagers your good side?" added Samar.
Badrul leaned back slowly in his chair, his eyes gazing far into the forest near the field.
"Heh… If I did that, people would just say I'm trying to get attention. That I want praise. That I'm trying to fix my image... blah-blah-blah…"
"I've been observing the villagers for a long time. They're quick to believe what others say, but slow to see for themselves what's true."
Nisa and Samar fell silent, struck by words far beyond his age.
"Wow, you're only 12, but you think like an old man," said Samar with a small, sincere, slightly sarcastic laugh.
"Hahaha… Badang always says the same thing when we talk at night. He says I'm old before my time."
They continued chatting on that bench until the sun began to set in the western sky. That worn-out bench became the silent witness to an unexpected friendship.
"Ah... it's Maghrib already, I have to go. Or my dad's gonna yell at me again," said Badrul as he slowly stood up.
"Alright, we should get going too," replied Samar.
"See you again, Badrul," said Nisa with a smile.
Badrul waved at Nisa and Samar.
For the first time in a long while, he walked home with a genuine smile—not a forced one, but one that came from the heart.
From that day on, the small park bench became their regular meeting spot—a place to share stories, laughter, and dreams of the future.
Slowly, Badrul began to change. He started helping the villagers with Nisa and Samar.
Even though he still heard the villagers' taunts and insults—saying he wouldn't keep up his good behavior for long—he paid them no mind.
To him, those words no longer carried weight—because he now had something far more valuable: two friends who believed in him and stayed by his side.
Seven years had passed. They had all grown up. The villagers no longer shunned Badrul because of his changed behavior.
One day, Badrul began to feel something strange whenever he was near Nisa.
His heart would race, his face would flush for no reason, and there was a stabbing pain in his chest every time their eyes met.
"What's going on with my heart? Am I sick?" he grumbled to himself, confused and restless.
He didn't know who to talk to about the strange feelings—until he finally opened up to Badang one afternoon.
"That's called love, Buddy." said Badang casually.
"Huh?"
"Yeah. You've got a crush."
"On you?"
"No, you idiot. On Nisa."
Badrul laughed as if trying to dismiss it.
"Me, in love? Hahaha... no way."
Badang could only shake his head at Badrul's reaction.
"Alright, tell me this: whenever you look at Nisa, what comes first to your mind?"
Badrul fell silent. Images of Nisa's calm and gentle face appeared in his mind. Her soft voice, her sincere smile... and in his heart, a quiet whisper:
"She'd make a perfect wife..."
"I... I like Nisa?" he said softly, still struggling to believe his feelings.
"Hah… how stupid can you be," said Badang, giving his brother a light pat on the shoulder.
But ever since that day, Badrul began distancing himself.
He wasn't ready to accept his own feelings. He was afraid—afraid of the changes within him, afraid that Nisa would drift away, and most of all, afraid of losing their friendship.
But the more he distanced himself, the more it hurt.
It was a pain that no logic could heal—and one he couldn't quite understand.
Samar began to notice something strange between Badrul and Nisa.
Their once warm and easygoing bond now felt cold—as if a wall had suddenly formed between them. Curious, Samar decided to investigate, starting with Nisa.
He saw Nisa sitting alone on the porch of her house, hugging her knees and staring off into the distance.
Samar approached and spoke softly.
"Nisa."
Nisa flinched slightly, then offered a small smile.
"Samar. Hi."
"Can I ask you something?"
"About what?"
Samar sat beside her.
"Are you and Badrul… fighting?"
Nisa's face changed—slightly confused.
"Why would you say that?"
"Because I can feel there's a distance between you two…"
"… You used to talk to each other like it was nothing. But now… it feels different."
Nisa lowered her head. Her cheeks began to flush.
"Samar… if I tell you, promise not to say anything to Badrul, okay?"
"What is it?"
Nisa looked around, then leaned closer to Samar's ear.
"Actually... I have feelings for Badrul."
Samar's eyes widened. His mouth parted slightly, and his brows lifted high.
He never saw it coming.
Nisa continued softly, her eyes downcast.
"I don't even know when these feelings started... But every time our eyes meet, my face heats up. My heart races.
"At first, I had no idea what was happening to me…"
"But now I realise — my heart has already fallen for him. And I don't think I can turn back anymore."
Nisa poured everything out — honest and sincere.
Unknowingly, her words tore at Samar's heart.
He had harboured feelings for Nisa since they were children.
But today, he heard with his own ears that the space in her heart did not belong to him.
Samar could only smile, even as his heart cracked silently.
"Huh… It feels good to finally let all that out.
You're the only one I can trust with this," said Nisa, her sweet smile — a smile that belonged only to Badrul, not to him.
Samar lowered his gaze.
He knew… he would have to make a sacrifice so that his two best friends could be happy.
"Nisa, can you help me for a moment?" called a voice from inside the house.
"Coming, auntie..." Nisa stood up slowly, turning back to him for a moment.
"Bye, Samar. And thank you."
"You're welcome…" Samar replied, trying to keep his voice steady.
He watched as Nisa walked away… trying to convince himself that his sacrifice would be worth it.
But as soon as she disappeared behind the door, a tear slipped down Samar's cheek.
He tried to hold it in, tried to force himself to stay strong — but his heart was too fragile in that moment.
He lowered his head, covering his face with his right hand.
His breath trembled.
"How stupid of me…" he whispered softly, wounded by a pain too deep for words.
His steps were slow and heavy as he left the front yard — only he and the silence knew how much it truly hurt.
Every smile he gave earlier…
was a smile that betrayed his true feelings.
Every word of encouragement he offered...
was part of a sacrifice that slowly broke his own soul.
But he knew — for Nisa's happiness, for Badrul…
he was willing to bury it all deep within.