Crossword

three | 沉默

AT TWELVE, YEN THINKS SHE KNOWS SILENCE.

It's eleven o'clock, and the neighbourhood is deathly quiet. If there's anything living here for the past six years has taught her, it's that despite the bustling city, after ten, Tanjong Rhu goes to sleep.

She's about to go to sleep herself. It's been a long day - school is getting more difficult now, and they're pushing hard for the PSLE, which Yen will take in six months' time. Coupled with co-curricular activities, she's barely had time to help her mother with the cooking, resulting in frequent trips downstairs to Jiaxiang - Jun's family restaurant - to pack food.

Today's dinner cost is scribbled in the book, its edges worn and fraying. She works out the sum quickly and glances at the calendar. There's still nine days in the month.

Her stomach complains. Guilty, she glances at the door to their bedroom, where Yue and Jia-Le are long-asleep, bellies filled with their favourite char kway teow.

Carefully, Yen tucks the book under the table in the living room and gets up to stretch. She glances at the table and sighs. It's been a long while since she's had yong tau foo, and she misses it.

Just like she misses her mother. More work has meant that she rarely even sees her now, even as they live in the same house.

Her gaze snags on a small flash of gold. She squats and pulls at the box under the table, uncovering it.

Running, for Yen, has always been a form of escape. If there's something she's learned about herself, it's that every time something bad happens at home, her first thought is to get out, to get as far away as possible. Practice means that she's got very good at it - if the medals she's looking at are any indication.

But running is also something that her family will never understand. It's not a proper job, her grandfather said once, eyebrows drawn together. How are you going to earn money? How will you take care of a family?

And that's why, maybe, she's never asked them for anything. Her medals are brought back and stashed in this box, under the table. She's never invited them to any of the ceremonies or the assemblies in the hall where the headmaster embarrasses her in front of everyone. During competitions, her eyes always sweep the bleachers, hoping that a miracle would occur.

It's never happened.

She stares at the clock, fingers clutched tightly around the box. Watches it tick, from five minutes, to ten, to fifteen. She wonders why she's waiting. Who she's waiting for. At some point, her eyelids start to close.

White plastic appears in her vision. She startles. Her gaze darts upwards.

In her hazy vision, Jun smiles. "Grab some plates."

"What?" She's still half-asleep. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the open box, its contents orderly - the only place she's ever bothered to tidy.

"Plates," he says, already walking towards the table. Through the plastic, she can just about see containers, steam turning their covers wet. "You haven't eaten, have you?"

She stares. Images flash across her mind. Jun, spooning food into her bowl when he thought she wasn't looking. Swallowing whenever he looked at her eat. Running in the rain just to get the fu kin min he knows her mother loves.

"Yen." Jun sighs. "Am I going to have to do it all myself?"

"No!" She pulls the cover over the box, stashes it back under the table, and scrambles to help him. A small smile plays at his lips. Together, they drag out plates, careful to make sure they don't clatter. Jun pulls the containers open and sets them out in front of her. She takes in the soft aubergine, chewy okra, crimson peppers, the familiar meat filling peeking out from each one. There are even small cartons of rice. Her mouth waters.