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PREVIEW
... was a time to celebrate freedom from the shackles of the nine-to-five grind. Sudirman Street might be jammed with young couples hunting for photo spots, the cafes in Kemang packed with laughter, and cinemas playing blockbuster movies sold out since noon.
But for Hidayat Nur Mustafidl—or Dayat, as he was called by the handful of friends who still remembered his existence—Saturday night was a sacred ritual of silence inside a three-by-three-meter boarding room.
The room was damp, ...
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