CHAPTER 3 — BOOK I
Where We Resume
(1996–1999)
Geoffrey arrived at The Scots College in summer.
Sydney did not ease him in. The late January air carried a sharpness he had not expected, and the senior school campus at Bellevue Hill felt larger than it needed to be—open lawns, pale stone buildings, boys already moving with the confidence of those who knew where they belonged.
He followed instructions carefully. Orientation. Roll call. The auditorium.
It was there that he saw Embong again.
Not immediately. Not dramatically. Just a familiar posture across the room, a face that had not changed as much as time suggested it should have. When their eyes met, recognition arrived before memory had time to assemble itself.
They smiled.
They had met once before, years earlier, in the preparatory school—eleven-year-old boys introduced briefly while adults moved with purpose around them. There had been no exchange of addresses, no follow-up. Just names, and the sense that something might have continued if time had allowed it.
Now, time had returned them to the same place.
For Embong, the campus already had contours. He knew which paths sloped gently, which staircases echoed, which teachers expected answers and which preferred silence. Sydney was not new to him. Nor was movement.
He had travelled before.
In December 1997, Embong had visited the United States with his family—Bapak and Ibu beside him, Kak Hijau already tall and observant, Uncle Rusmadi and Auntie Nurasih moving with the practical ease of people accustomed to organising journeys across borders. They had stayed with Delima’s older brother, a banker, who lived there with his younger wife and infant son.
Embong remembered airports more clearly than landmarks. The waiting. The walking. The way adults spoke in quieter voices once the children slept. Hijau had navigated easily, curious but composed. Delima had moved through unfamiliar places without hesitation. Awan had treated the trip as something useful rather than impressive.
The experience had not changed Embong.
It had simply confirmed that the world was accessible—and that familiarity came from people, not geography.
At home, familiarity took simpler forms.
Ganang had grown taller since Embong first arrived in Sydney, all elbows and restless energy now, quick to claim the best spot on the floor and quicker still to abandon it. He followed Embong from room to room with the casual loyalty of a younger cousin who did not yet distinguish between admiration and habit.
Sometimes Ganang talked without pause; sometimes he played in silence, content to sit nearby while Embong read or worked. He asked questions about school but accepted the answers as they came, never pressing, never lingering. When Embong needed quiet, Ganang wandered off. When Embong did not, Ganang stayed.
It was an unspoken arrangement, learned rather than agreed upon, and Embong would only later realise how rare it was to be allowed that kind of ease.
Lachlan Sullivan was not yet part of the picture.
Back in the auditorium, the boys rose for the anthem.
“Advance Australia Fair” filled the space, voices uneven but sincere. Geoffrey sang loudly, slightly ahead of the rhythm, as if anchoring himself through sound. Embong sang with the others, careful but steady.
Australians all let us rejoice For we are young and free We've golden soil and wealth for toil Our home is girt by sea Our land abounds in nature's gifts Of beauty, rich and rare In history's page let every stage Advance Australia fair
In joyful strains then let us sing Advance Australia fair
The headmaster spoke next.
Dr Robert Iles welcomed the new intake with practiced warmth, acknowledging those who had joined mid-year and reminding everyone that the school expected commitment—not brilliance, not perfection, just effort.
When the assembly broke, Geoffrey and Embong found themselves walking out together without deciding to do so.
“Didn’t expect to see you again,” Geoffrey said.
“Neither did I,” Embong replied.
They stopped near the edge of the lawn, boys streaming past them in groups that already knew how to arrange themselves.
“You settling in?” Embong asked.
“I think so,” Geoffrey said. “Still figuring out the map.”
Embong smiled. “You’ll get it.”
They headed toward recess side by side, conversation light, unfinished. There was no sense of urgency, no need to retrieve what had been lost between 1995 and now.
Some connections did not require explanation.
They simply resumed.
Geoffrey returned Embong’s book the next day without comment.
Only later did Embong notice the pencil marks—light, careful, as if they might be erased by breathing too hard. One word circled. Another underlined. Nothing obscene. Just slightly wrong in a way that suggested curiosity rather than mockery.
Embong did not look up.
That evening, he added his own mark beside Geoffrey’s—correcting the definition.
He left the rest untouched.
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