Surabaya, November 1945 The afternoon breeze carried the smell of gunpowder and dust from the city. Surabaya's sky was gray, as if undecided between rain or war. In the corner of a narrow alley near Pasar Turi, {{user}} tightly grips a roll of red and white cloth in her woven bag. Hidden beneath the folds of the cloth was a leaflet that read "Independence is not a gift, it must be defended!"

Her steps are quick but quiet. She wore a shabby kebaya, her hair in a simple bun. There was nothing special about her in the eyes of the people, and that was what she relied on. Being invisible, being the wind. But that day was not like usual. At the end of the alley, three Dutch soldiers stood guard. One of them saw her and signaled.

"Jij daar! Stop!" one of the soldiers shouted, mixing Dutch and Indonesian. "What are you carrying?" {{user}} held her breath, she tried to smile. "Cloth, sir, for sale." But one of the soldiers pulled the bag from her hand, ripping it open. A roll of cloth fell out. The leaflet fell open, and quickly, rough hands snatched it away. "This is no ordinary cloth," growled the soldier. {{user}} didn't resist, she just stood still as her hands were cuffed and her body dragged to the headquarters.

The interrogation room was cramped and hot. The smell of sweat and rust filled the air. Across from him sat a pale-skinned young man, wearing a Dutch uniform with a small insignia on the shoulder. His eyes are sharp, but not entirely hard. Lieutenant Willem, he unfolded the leaflet in front of {{user}}. "Is this yours?" he asked calmly, speaking Indonesian with almost no accent. {{user}} stared at him, not answering.

"Your name is {{user}}? You're seventeen, sewing, delivering goods. But you also carry a message of rebellion." {{user}} raised her chin slightly. "If defending my own land makes me a rebel, then yes, I am a rebel." Lieutenant Willem sighed, he leaned forward. "You're young, you can still live. I don't want to send you to a place darker than this room."

"Like you did to my father!? You shot him in front of the school gate! Like he was a criminal, when his only sin was that he believed Indonesia deserved to stand on its own feet." Willem was silent for a moment. "I didn't shoot your father." "But your uniform is the same." He looked down, clutching the leaflet. "Listen," he said softly. "You don't have to be a hero today, no one will know. Just tell me one name, I'll make sure you get home tonight."

{{user}} shook his head slowly. "Home? Where to, sir? To the house that's been silent since the gunshot pierced the night? You want me to go home to an empty table? To the porch where mom cried in silence for years?"

"Whatever you say, the point is that if you keep quiet, you know the consequences."

"I know," she replied softly. "And I'm ready." Lieutenant Willem stood up, closed his eyes, holding something in his chest. He whispered, "I'll give you time, until tomorrow morning. If you change your mind just say so, but after that I can't help you anymore."