A Friend Made (Part 1)

“Hai, penat nampak?” Daniel lifted his head from his palms and looked towards where the voice was coming from. It was the burger maker. Daniel broke into a smile while rubbing his right eye. He wanted to say something but nothing came out. “Dah lewat dah kot ni noh?”

“Ha, bleh tahan la gak.” Daniel responsed out of necessity, but also because he wanted to. The guy didn’t seem all that bad. He was just being friendly, as people do. He had black, wavy hair. It wasn’t too long, but just long enough to know that he wasn’t in school anymore. He wasn’t all that tall either, enhancing his harmless demeanor. He seemed to like smiling a lot, but not in a creepy way. It was .. amiable. Yes, that’s the word Dan was looking for.

“Dok dekat-dekat sini ka?” asked the burger maker while flipping a patty.

“Ha, saya dok kat flat kat belakang tu. Apartmen Saujana.” Daniel pointed in the apartment building’s general direction. It was beyond the flat area that the burger place was in. He just stopped at the first beside-the-road burger joint he chanced upon, since the usual spot was closed for some reason. Daniel had to take his motorcycle there because he didn’t feel like walking around aimlessly for stalls selling burgers.

“Oh, dekat ajalah. Dok belajaq ka kerja dah?” the burger maker was now spraying on some black liquid onto the patties. Looked cool, the way he was doing it, so nonchalantly. He had been working the grill for a while, Daniel could tell.

“Dah kerja dah. Cikgu, kat SK Saujana Indah. Kat belakang masjid tu. Sebelah Sekolah Menengah Saujana Indah.” Daniel regurgitated the more-elaborate-than-required response yet again to answer the anticipated question of which school exactly.

“Oh, ha, taw. Cikgu ka? Baru lagi? Nampak macam muda ja untuk cikgu?” The burger maker’s question didn’t sound intruding. He still came off as amiable.

“Hehe, ha, baru dalam empat bulan. Habeh belajaq tu tequih jadi cikgu ah.” Daniel was starting to admire this guy for some reason. Maybe it was the way he was carrying the conversation. He seemed genuinely interested. Like this wasn’t just small talk. Or maybe it was because he was doing what Daniel could never seem to figure out how to do: being friendly. 

“Oh. Belajaq kat mana dulu?” The burger maker continued the conversation effortlessly while tending to the buns on the grill with as much effort.

“Belajaq dekat sini ja. Maktab perguruan kat atas pulau, sebelah Recsam. Belakang Tesco. Habeh tahun lepaih, paihtu masuk kerja April.” Daniel was getting more comfortable.

“Oh, okayla tu.” The burger maker said while widening his smile to reveal a neat set of teeth. Then her turned away from Daniel for a while to pack the burger that he had prepared all this while. “Nah, burger daging special, siap.”

“Eh, saya order burger daging biasa ja?” Daniel muttered in his confusion. He had only brought down three ringgit, just enough for a standard beside-the-road plain beef burger.

“Takpa, hang bayaq harga daging biasa ja cukup lah.” The burger maker said while handing the finished burger over to Daniel.

“Eh, betoi ka ni bang?” Daniel started feeling guilty, like somehow he exploited the nice guy into giving him a discount.

“La, betoi la, dua ringgit lapan ja, cukup.” The burger maker smiled while still holding out the burger.

“Haih, okaylah bang.” Daniel had learned to accept nice gestures. Afterall, he didn’t like it when people won’t accept his good deeds or acts of charity, so it was only fair that he accepted. “Terima kasih.” Daniel said with a smile while simultaneously taking the burger and handing over the three ringgit he had in his pocket.

“Takpa aih.” The burger maker handed Daniel his 20 cents in change. “Mai lagi noh?” He seemed earnest in his invitation.

“Ha, alright. Thanks sekali lagi!” Daniel turned one last time before getting on his bike and starting it.

“Jumpak lagi geng!” The burger maker said with a wave of the hand and that sincere-looking smile.

Daniel smiled back. Not many people have called him “geng” throughout his lifetime. As a matter of fact, that might have been the very first time. Daniel rode back to his apartment with a smile on his face, being fairly confident that he’ll be going to that burger joint again the next night.

Humans of Humanity

“Hi there. My name’s Ahmad. Can I sit beside you?”

“Hello. Sure, go ahead.”

“Are you from around here?”

“Yeah, I’ve lived here since I was little.”

“You must have been through quite a few things then.”

“You could say that, yes.”

“Um, can I tell you something?”

“Yes, what is it?”

“I actually run a website that is followed by quite a number of people. What I do is I talk to people who are from around here and put up on the website the things I’ve learned from those people I talked to. I also take pictures of those people, to show those who go to the website that these people are real people living here.”

“Ah, that sounds nice.”

“Yes, you could say that. If you don’t mind, can I ask you some things to put up on the website?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Great, thanks! Um, so yeah. If you could give one piece of advice to a large group of people, what would it be?”

“Heh. That’s a good question. Hm, let me think.”

“Sure, take your time.”

“Hm. Ah. Don’t take your parents for granted.”

“Hm. Any particular reason for this piece of advice?”

“Well, my father passed away two months ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. But every day since he was buried, I have gone to his grave for at least ten minutes just to talk. I never did that when he was alive. The only time I ever saw him was once a year during Hari Raya. And even those I didn’t particularly enjoy. I always just wanted to get it over and done with. Always .. in a rush to .. to get .. somewhere else. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Take all the time you need.”

“*sniff* It wasn’t like I had anywhere to go either. I just didn’t want to be there, in the old house. And it wasn’t like he was an abusive father or anything. Nothing like that. I just disliked him for some reason. For no reason, really.”

“Hm.”

“And now that he’s gone, I just feel a great big loss, like there’s this huge hole inside me that won’t close. I know it sounds ridiculous, but that’s what it feels like. And the ten minutes I spend at his grave is the only time I feel like the hole’s not that big, y’know?”

“What do you go there to talk about?”

“All sorts of things, really. Anything. From how my day went to how much I regret not talking to him more when he was alive. Truth be told, in the first week I didn’t really say much. All I did was cry. And I didn’t stop until around a half hour afterwards, and then lI’d leave. But then at some point I started talking. I’d say ‘Hi Ayah. How are things? I’m alright. Just dropping by to say hi.’ Things like that, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

“Heh, I must sound ridiculous telling you all these things.”

“No, not at all. Thanks for sharing. I really appreciate it.”

“Thank you for listening. Really.”

That's What You Get

The sun was beating down on Sufni as he entered the fifth kilometer of his involuntary walk. He could keep count since there were distance markers on the side of the road every hundred meters on the highway. He wiped the sweat from his brow. Three more kilometers to go to the Sungai Perak RnR.

He is finding out the hard way that hitch-hiking doesn’t work here in Malaysia. They might work over in the US or maybe even Europe, but people over here don’t respond well to a raised thumb by some tallish guy in his late twenties who is sweating his shirt off. They hardly respond at all. So he put down the thumb within the third kilometer. Might as well just walk straight to the last RnR, he thought to himself. Besides, his arms were killing him from all that thumb-raising and pointless hoping. It didn’t help that he had to walk on the grass, off the tarmac, since the emergency lane was for motorcycles. He had no desire of being hit by anything, least of all by some mat rempit.

Yet, he had no regrets to saying what he did, which resulted in his little excursion by foot. He had always loathed driving with his parents in the car. In their view, it seemed that he could never do anything right behind the wheel. He was always too fast, or too slow, or too reckless, or not aggressive enough. There was no peace behind the wheel for him. Only complaints. The main critic was his father. His mother would chime in occasionally only after his father has gotten the complaint-ball rolling. 

But the night before that was when he snapped internally. It was one of the rare times in the past five years that his father was on the wheels, and he was in the backseat. His mother said something about his father’s driving, he wasn’t really listening, so he couldn’t really recall what she said, but his father’s response stuck on him like glue. “Look, I’m the one driving right now. If you have so much to say about it, why don’t you drive instead?” That was the line that he had had in his head for years now, it just didn’t come out, out of respect. But the way his father disrespected his mother when he said it, he just didn’t want to have it anymore.

So earlier today, when they were driving from Penang to Kuala Lumpur to meet-up with their second son, Sufni’s younger brother, he was naturally given the task of driving. Up until the first hundred kilometers, his parents were both asleep, so he enjoyed the drive complaint-free. But after their toilet break at the Sungai Perak RnR, the complaints started coming in. He was driving too fast, what was the rush? Then he was driving too slow. Was he making fun of them? 

When he finally had enough, Sufni pulled the car over. What was he doing? Did he blow a tyre? They didn’t hear anything? When the car came to a halt, he collected the required courage and said “If you have so much to say about my driving, why don’t you drive instead?”

Thus, there he was, a failed hitch-hiker treading his way to a highway pitstop. He smiled to himself, not being able to recall the last time he pulled off such a stunt. This was the first time he had ever stood up for himself against his parents, and he was paying for it, but it was worth it.

Once he got to the RnR, he was so thirsty he could drink from the polluted waters of Sungai Perak itself, so he went to get himself some water from the shop. Just as he was about to pay did he realise that he left his wallet in the car. “Damn it!” thought Sufni aloud. He put back the bottle of mineral water and asked if the person behind the counter could be so kind as to let him have a glass of water for free and told her of his predicament. She was most unimpressed and said that it would cost him twenty cents. He went to the other stalls and ended up empty handed as well. “What’s the big deal!? It’s just a glass of air kosong!!” The rage was very real inside of him. After failing, he finally went to the RnR surau and drank the water from a tap there. Never was he so relieved to see a surau in his life. He now saw some purpose for them being in existence.

He now had to think about what to do next. He didn’t have the house keys, since they were left in the car too. He couldn’t call anybody either. “Dammit, emptying my pockets in the car this time was a bad idea.” He sighs. He might as well just try to get a ride back to Penang and go stay at a neighbour’s house or something. That was all that he could come up with, so he set off to find some people who would be kind enough to let a stranger ride a car with them.

After turned down by five different people, he was losing hope. Did he look THAT bad? “Man, people suck.” He complained to no one in particular while staring off into the parking lot. There were buses parked nearby too. Maybe he could get them to give him a ride. So he went to a couple of bus drivers who were resting in their buses to ask if they had any empty seats for him to sit in. All of them either said no or that he needed to pay for the seats. “This is getting so, so frustrating.”

Then after he had been turned down by the fourth time, he hatched an idea while staring longingly at one of the busses. One of the passengers had opened the door where they put their bags, in the lower part of the bus. There were two doors and both of them were open.

Sufni waited until the passenger walked away and, after making sure no one was watching, closed one of the doors, got into the bus with the luggage and hid behind the door he closed. All he had to do was wait a few moments for the bus driver to close the other door and he was all clear.

Once the bus started moving only did he realise how dark, hot, humid and stinky it was down there, not to mention it was bumpy as hell. He had a hard time keeping his breakfast down the whole trip. But he succeeded. “Thank goodness for that.” He thought gratefully as the bus started slowing down and making various turns.

“Oh man, the bus is stopping. And when they stop, they’ll open the doors and they’ll see me here. I’ll get caught and be sent to the police for sure! I don’t even have my IC with me, so how am I supposed to explain this to the cops!?” Sufni was almost panicking. He decided that as soon as a door opened, he would make a run for it. “They’d be too dumbfounded to even think of chasing me until it’s too late! I hope.” It was the only plan Sufni had, so he was rolling with it.

As he predicted, the bus came to a halt. Sufni waited patiently amongst the bags under him for the door to open. He heard a click and prepared to jump out and make a dash for it. Once the door had opened enough for him to jump out, he did. He caught his foot on a bag and fell face down on the ground, hearing a shout of shock from whoever it was that opened the door. 

He quickly got back up and made a mad dash in whichever direction he was facing. Unfortunately, he was facing an open road, and after five steps, a police car going 70km/h ran him over. 

A crowd gathered around him, wondering who this strange bloodied man that emerged from the luggage compartment of a bus to run into a police car was.

The Staffroom

I feel like I need to clarify that this is a work of fiction. It has no relation to any event in real life.

 *******************************

The staff room had always been an unexciting place to be. At least for the male teachers. Save for the occasional gossip session with the women, there was nothing really to do except for official teacher work or chilling out under the fan to catch up on some rest. 

The staffroom fitted about 14 teachers, although for all of them to be in it at the same time, some sort of celebration had to be under way. There was always more than half out to be in class, some off to the canteen to get a drink (the food was terrible), or just not in school, for medical reasons or otherwise. And of the 14 teachers, only three were male. I was told that this was the norm for all-girls schools. I had gotten used to being surrounded by female teachers since teacher training college. Not many guys were too enthusiastic about teaching English. I was part of a rare breed.

The most senior of the three was Mr Tan. He was a no nonsense bespectacled math teacher, five years to go until retirement. He always carried his signature blue-tape-around-the-handle cane when he went to class. He didn’t talk much. He’d rather spend his time marking books or scolding children than talk with us other guys.

There was also me. Clearly the shortest of the trio (I was even shorter than some of the female teachers), the youngest and one of the quietest in the staffroom. Whenever a circle was formed to discuss the latest piece of gossip to land in the gossip group’s lap, I would be the one in the background, just listening, not contributing a single word. A stray laugh would escape my mouth every now and again when the teachers cracked something hilarious, but otherwise I would have nothing to contribute almost all of the time.

And then there was Ustaz Hisyam. The second most senior religious teacher in the school. In his early thirties, dark skinned, tall, has been putting on some weight lately since the birth of his second child. Very laidback guy, sometimes even wore slippers to class. But only after he was certain that the headmaster wasn’t in. He’s rather talkative too. Likes to find out things about other people’s backgrounds, where they came from, what it was like growing up and stuff like that. 

When I first entered the school four months ago, I had a lot of respect for him. He was one of the friendlier teachers who showed me around, introduced me to the other teachers, told me interesting facts about the other teachers so that I wouldn’t ask about the wrong thing to the wrong people.

But then one day, Ustaz Hisham called me, as he always did, to pray Zuhr in the small storeroom in the staffroom that we male teachers used as a surau, since this was an all-girls school. Only this time, he didn’t ask me to iqamat for him. This time, he came close to me and asked me to take off my pants. At first I thought he was joking, but the look in his eyes proved me wrong. I said no and tried to make a run for it. He grabbed my arm and said slowly in my ear “Come on, no need to pretend anymore. As long as we don’t make a sound, no one will know a thing.” 

I decided that I had to put my foot down before things got worse. I looked him dead in the eye and said “Ustaz, I don’t know how you got the impression that I am gay, but I am not. Not at all. So please, let me go!” Making sure that my voice wasn’t loud enough for passers-by to hear.

Ustaz Hisyam smirked. “Okay, so you want me to take it out first? Fine then. Here you go.” He let go of my arm and started to undo his belt buckle. Before he could show me anything, I made a run for it. I turned around, went out the door, shut it behind me and walked briskly to my desk in the staffroom. I packed my things and took my motorcycle back home without informing anyone.

The next day, I applied for an MC to get off work. Now, my workplace has turned into a nightmare. What should I do?

I'm Okay

Yus melabuhkan punggungnya ke kerusi kosong pertama yang dia jumpa didalam gerabak tren LRT itu. Tidaklah terlalu sukar mencari kerusi kosong, dah orang pun tak berapa ramai menaiki LRT pada waktu-waktu begini.

Yus melihat jam di screensaver smartphone-nya. Dah pukul 11 pagi. Agh, dia lambat kekerja lagi hari ni. Pasti bosnya akan marah lagi. Nak hantar mesej ke whatsapp group ofisnya untuk mintak tolong rakan-rakan sekerja cover line pun tak boleh. “Siapa suruh tak bayar bil awal-awal haa?” Yus tanya pada diri sendiri.

Yus menyandar kekerusi itu sekali lagi. Dia memejam mata, cuba mengingati apa yang terjadi semalam. “Bodoh punya Hafiz, ajak aku keluar sampai ke pagi, padahal aku dah cakap dah aku ada kerja harini. Tapi tak, dia nak jugak aku pergi teman dia pergi kedai mamak, nak tengok bola konon. Padahal nak suruh teman jumpak awek baru. Tak pasal-pasal aku kena jadi third-wheel. Nasib baik game best. Jerman menang! Weehoo!” Yus tersenyum sendiri.

Akan tetapi, oleh kerana stay up sampai ke pukul empat pagi, dia terpaksalah menerima akibatnya sekarang, bangun lambat, mata masih lagi mengantuk nak mampos. Yus menutup kuapannya yang seluas fana itu dengan tangannya lalu mengesat air yang terkumpul didalam matanya.

Matanya memeriksa jadual perhentian LRT buat kesekian kalinya sepanjang dia mengambil LRT ke tempat kerjanya. “Masih lagi terdapat 5 perhentian nampaknya. Bolehla aku nak pejam mata kejap.” Yus berfikir lalu memejam matanya buat seketika.

Baru beberapa ketika dia menutup mata, Yus dikejutkan kembali dengan bunyi batukan yang sangat teruk daripada sebelah kirinya. Dengan batukan sebegitu rupa, Yus tak terkejut jika manusia itu sedang batuk berdarah. Dia memalingkan kepalanya kearah batukan yang masih berbunyi itu.

Tampak di tengah gerabak betul-betul didepan pintu masuknya, seorang lelaki hampir bersujud. Dia meletakkan sebelah lututnya serta kedua belah tapak tangannya diatas lantai. Dia kelihatan seperti didalam lingkungan umur dua-puluhan, lebih kurang umur Yus, rambutnya keriting dan tebal, panjang hingga melewati bahunya, kepala tunduk kebawah. Dia memakai t-shirt berwarna putih, jeans acid wash yang koyak rabak di bahagian paha dan lutut serta memakai kasut Converse lusuh.

Yus memandang kekiri dan kekanannya. Semua orang yang bersamanya didalam gerabak itu buat tak endah sahaja kepada lelaki yang batuk dengan teruk itu. Ada yang buat-buat tidur. Betapa tak prihatinnya masyarakat kita ini, singkap Yus. Lantas dia bangun dan pergi kesisi lelaki yang sedang batuk itu.

Sesampainya Yus kesebelah orang sedang batuk itu, dia berhenti batuk. Eh? Kenapa plak ni? Dah baik dah ke? Terfikir Yus sejenak. “Bro, kau okay tak ni bro?” Tanya Yus kepada lelaki tersebut.

“I’m okay.” Kata lelaki tersebut, dengan suara yang dalam sambil menunjukkan tanda thumbs-up dengan tangan kanannya. Wah, bass-nya suara dia ni, Yus mengomen didalam hatinya.

“Betul ni kau okay bro? Takde ubat ke nak makan bro?” Yus sekali lagi bertanya, menunjukkan betapa prihatinnya dirinya agar dapat dicontohi penaik LRT yang lain.

“I’m okay.” Kata lelaki berambut tebal itu, kali ini dengan suara yang terlalu dalam, yang tak mungkin terhasil daripada kerongkong manusia biasa. Lelaki itu mendongakkan kepalanya dan menunjukkan mukanya yang senyum dari telinga ke telinga. “I’M OKAY!” sekali lagi dia berkata, kali ini dengan volume-nya ditingkatkan dua kali ganda. 

Yus menjerit sambil menutup telinganya. Namun apabila tangannya menjengah telinganya, dapat dia rasakan sesuatu yang likat. Dia melihat apa yang ada ditangannya, dan terdapat darah. Ternyata telinganya sedang berdarah sekarang.

Lelaki berbaju putih itu memusingkan badannya kearah Yus, menunjukkan logo “I’m okay” berwarna merah ditengah-tengah bajunya. Yus melihat sekali lagi ke muka lelaki itu apabila dia membuka mulutnya dengan luas. Betapa terkejutnya Yus apabila daripada mulut lelaki berambut kusut itu keluar sedikit demi sedikit sebelah tangan daripada hujung jemari hingga ke bahu. Tangan yang ketiga lelaki itu juga melakukan tanda thumbs-up. “I”M OKAAYYY!!” terlalu kuat bunyi yang dihasilkan sehingga pecah cermin tingkap gerabak LRT itu.

Yus memejam matanya sekali lagi dan membukanya semula untuk menjerit ketakutan. Namun sebelum dia dapat menjerit, dapat dia lihat gerabak LRT yang dinaikinya tidak terjadi apa-apa. Cermin tingkapnya masih lagi sempurna, dan dia masih lagi dalam keadaan duduk di tempat asalnya. Dia cepat-cepat memeriksa telinganya. Lega, tiada darah atau apa-apa benda lain disitu.

Dia memandang kekiri dan kekanannya, memeriksa kedua-dua hujung gerabak. Tiada lelaki berambut keriting itu. Yus menghela nafas lega dan bersandar sekali lagi.

Sebaik sahaja Yus bersandar, sekali lagi dapat dia dengari bunyi batuk yang amat teruk sekali. Dia melihat siapakah gerangan yang batuk itu. Seorang tua yang mempunyai tongkat. Yus memejam matanya kembali dan buat-buat tidur. Dia berbuat begitu hingga dia mendengar pengumuman memaklumkan yang telah tiba stopnya, lantas turun daripada LRT itu cepat-cepat untuk ketempat kerjanya.

One Night in Ramadan

So there he was, in his father’s new Passat, with Justin Timberlake turned up to 20 on the radio, air conditioning at a good two, in the driver’s seat, PSP in hand, wondering when the terawikh would be over already.

The car’s parked right right across the road from Masjid Batu’s front gate. His father always chose that spot to park, even if there were spots inside the mosque compounds, since it was easier to get out of after they had finished prayers.

Zul sighed. Every year for as long as he could remember, he would come here with his father for prayers. After performing ‘isyak, he’d ask the keys from his father and go wait in the car until the 8 rakaat terawikh was over, then his father would come join him in the car and they’d go back home.

He didn’t understand why he still had to come, even though he didn’t pray terawikh. His father made it clear that it wasn’t obligatory, only sunat, so he opted out of it. Now at 16, he still has to come every night for the length of the month of Ramadan, just to wait in the car. It made no sense.

He tried asking his father if he could stay at home, once when he was 14, but his father got so angry at him that his Nintendo got taken away from him for a whole week. From then on, he just reluctantly followed. It sucked, but it was way better than having to go without his PSP for a week. 

Besides, it was only for a month. And this new car smell wasn’t too bad. He wondered about what car he’d get once he had his license. He’d definitely want an SLK, but his father would never let him have that. He had to keep it realistic. Like probably one of those old BMW M3s. Those couldn’t be too expensive, right? All vintage and stuff. He’d tune it up and put turbo in and stuff, definitely paint on some racing stripes on it. Paint it yellow with black stripes. Just like bumblebee. It’d be so badass.

Suddenly, a knock at the passenger seat window startled him and snapped him out of his daydream. He almost dropped his PSP. Was it a rempit wanting to rob him? He’d feared this day for a while now. He always fantasized about beating them to death with the golfstick father always put in the trunk. But how was he supposed to get to the trunk now that he was inside? Dammit!

He finally got up the courage to look outside the window. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was just an old man, his face all wrinkled, what little remained of his short hair, his big grin that revealed the few teeth he had left, wearing a plain white shirt. 

The old man knocked again. Zul didn’t really know what to do. He took a closer look at the old man. Only then did he notice that his eyes were blue. His face was definitely very typically Malay, but his eyes were blue. Now this was something Zul had never seen before. 

He also noticed something else. There was someone right behind him. An old woman. About the same age as the old man, he figured. Their faces were similar. She had the same blue eyes and almost-toothless smile on her face too. Her hair was long and grey, tied in a ponytail behind her. She was wearing a worn-out cotton baju kurung. 

She had her arms around the old man’s shoulders. This is weird, thought Zul. Only when the old man turned slightly to the side did he find out that the old man was giving the old woman a piggy-back ride. This is really weird, Zul almost said out loud. Why was he giving her a piggy-back ride? Why were their eyes blue? And more importantly, thought Zul, why were they smiling so widely?

After several moments had passed, the old man walked away from the car, still carrying the old woman. Zul just watched as they went away. The old woman even turned around and waved at him, the smile on her face never wavering. Zul just sat there with his mouth agape, not knowing what to think.

Right after the two old people had disappeared down the road, another knock shocked Zul. This time it was on the driver’s side. He turned slowly to see what it was. It was his father. He knocked again, pointing downwards, signaling for Zul to unlock the door. He blinked twice, and finally unlocked the door. He went over to sit at the passenger seat and they went home.

The night afterwards, Zul decided to stay inside the mosque and pray the 8 rakaat of terawikh.

Salty Coffee

“She was an amazing person.” Jamal put down his half-empty mug on his desk. He had been caffeine-free for close to six months, but he couldn’t decline the offer from his old student cum good friend.

“Yeah, she was." Shariff held on to his cup of coffee while staring off outside the window behind Mr Jamal.

Even though sixteen years separate 27-year-old Shariff and his former lecturer Mr Jamal, they had grown close. Alongside Syazwani, they had gone to his office for regular post-office-hour coffee sessions in his office at the university, right from their second year (the first time Mr Jamal taught them English Literature) up until their graduation. Now, almost four years after graduating and a year after the last time they met each other, it felt different. Maybe it was because of the time since they’ve met each other. Or maybe it was just because Syazwani wasn’t here anymore.

“Do you remember the time when she got so mad at me after the first month of classes?” Jamal said with a smile on his face, not quite having it in him to look directly into Shariff’s eyes.

Shariff cracked a smile. “Yeah. She didn’t like the mark you gave her for that test. She said it was ‘unjustified’. I actually encouraged her to go up to see you. Man did we have some learning to do.” Shariff said, the smile still there, his gaze now fixed on his still-full cup of coffee.

“Hm, that you did. I told her that I’ve already read it more than fifteen times already, that I didn’t need to be retold what the author said. I wanted to know what she thought of it. But of course you know that, you were there.” Jamal finally allowing his eyes to look for Shariff’s, though he couldn’t. Shariff seemed to be deeply contemplating his coffee.

Shariff nodded his head. That’s Mr Jamal. Took them out of the boxes they’ve been put in ever since school. Made them question the box. Made them question other people. Made them question him. Made them question life. They owed him so much.

“You could say that that was the day that started all this, huh?” Shariff said, almost to himself.

Jamal smiled. “You could say that, yes.”

Shariff shifted in his seat. “Oh yeah, speaking of which..” Shariff reached for his bag beside him and pulled out a book. By The River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept by Paulo Coelho. “Here you go.”

“Ah, yes. It was this book. Forgive me, I totally forgot which one we were supposed to talk about. She didn’t happen to tell you what she thought about it, did she?” Jamal took the book in his hand and examined to front of it.

“Of course she didn’t. She wanted to wait to tell you in person, as usual.” Shariff still couldn’t bring himself to make eye-contact with his favourite teacher.

Jamal nodded. “Well then, what do you think of it?”

Shariff looked up and finally looked at Mr Jamal in the eye, opened his mouth to speak, and almost immediately closed it again with his hand. Tears started streaming down his face as he tried to contain his sobs, but to no avail.

Jamal got up around his desk and put his hand on Shariff’s back, stroking it gently.

“It’s okay Shariff. It’s okay.” Jamal didn’t really know what to say, but felt that he had to say something. He knew that Shariff looked up to him, but now he felt himself so powerless, so he repeated those words, the same words that had been told to him when he lost his beloved all those years ago. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Shariff didn’t know why he was crying. He didn’t like it. He just couldn’t hold it in any longer. He missed Syazwani. He loved Syazwani. And now she’s gone. What was he supposed to do? He thought that he had accepted death as a part of life, not the end of it. But nobody told him how hurt he would be when it finally happened to someone he cared about. To the one person he cared the most about. He knows he should be strong and embrace it. But how do you embrace something that brings you so much pain? How? He just didn’t know.

Jamal let his former student the several minutes he needed calm down. When the worst had subsided, he sat on the chair next to Shariff while still holding on to his mug.

“You know, someone said something to me a long long time ago, and I think it was pretty good thought. Made me look at life a little differently. You want to hear it?”

Shariff nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to speak in the condition he’s in.

“That person said, on our last day on Earth, what is going to shine through is not how many personal achievements we have attained, but how many hearts we were able to touch.” Jamal said while gazing out of the window.

Shariff stopped breathing for a few seconds, then exhaled a smile. “Yeah, pretty wise words, I’d say.”

“So what do you think? Did she live by her words? Did she touch as many hearts as she could?” Jamal still seemed like he was looking for something outside the window.

Shariff exhaled once again. He thought about how many students of hers were at her funeral. How many of her friends from university came, fellow students as well as lecturers, how many of her neighbours, her family, close and far, even some friends she had never met before in real life who just said they knew her online, how many people were inspired by her passion, her determination, her zeal for life, her caring demeanor, her compassion, her honesty and her way with words. “Yeah, I think she did.”

Jamal couldn’t help but smile seeing Shariff smile the way he was. It was the smile he had when he had Syazwani beside him. “She was an amazing person.”

“Yeah, she was.” Shariff let his tears again drop into his cup of coffee.