Crossword

eight | 记得

AT EIGHTEEN, JUN THINKS HE KNOWS HOW TO REMEMBER.

They've finished eating, but the lingering smell of basil fried chicken, pan-fried cabbage and sweet-and-sour pork stays in the air. Water runs over his hands as he rinses plates. It's part of their routine - his grandmother cooks, Han and his mother help, and Jun does the dishes.

Today, though, he's not the only one. He places the plate on the rack to dry and glances at Yen. She's focusing hard, the crease between her eyebrows appearing as she scrubs plates that she'll hand over to him.

He grins. Then he flicks his hand, and the soap suds land on her.

Quick as a flash, she covers the tap with her hand, and the water sprays all the way down his shirt. His eyes widen. "You did not just do that."

"You sprayed my shirt," she points out, already trying to wring it dry. "And I'm already wearing white. It's see-through. Yours is black."

He shrugs and turns back around to clean the final plate. Groaning, Yen angles the tap towards herself to try and get the soap out.

"Let me help you," he offers.

She glares. "As if I'd trust you anywhere near a tap."

His eyebrows raise. "You've never cared about the state of your clothes before - why now?"

"In case you haven't realised," she hisses, twisting her blouse - now very crumpled - so water drips out. A small puddle grows on the floor. "I'm in your house. With your family in it. What would they say if I came out your kitchen wet?"

"I didn't realise you were -"

"Shut up, Jun." She looks down, drops her shirt, and sighs. "Do you have clothes I can borrow?"

He tugs at his neckline. "I only have this one shirt, but if you want -"

Yen glances at the sky like she's asking for help. "I didn't realise I was standing in the kitchen with a twelve-year old."

Jun laughs. A cool breeze blows through the kitchen. Downstairs, a horn echoes throughout Marina Bay.

Yen shivers.

Jun flicks off the light immediately and pulls the kitchen door open, nudging Yen to leave first. His eyebrows are scrunched together. "My clothes are in my room."

As he follows her through the apartment, his gaze falls on the many pictures on the walls. They're the result of an afternoon spent with Han, laying out rows of photographs they strung together and hung up. It's almost a picture collage from left to right - the family through the years.

He stops in front of one of them, a picture they took during graduation from primary school. Time has flown by - he's in his last year of secondary now, getting ready to go to university. He searches for Yen, her quick eyes, her telltale grin.

But it's a picture of Yue he stops at instead, and he bites his lip. A white bottle flashes in his mind, its contents full. His fingers know all too well the grip of the bottle. He's tried convincing Yen's sister to take her meds too many times.

In the months since he started hanging out with Yen again, he's tried to tell her so many times. But the words - just like his worry for Yue - are permanently lodged in his throat.

If there's anything spending time with Yue has taught him, it's that despite his memory, his communication sucks.

He pauses at his doorway. Yen stands in it, the light not even on. He wonders if it's been too long, if she's forgotten. He's about to move forward and switch it on when she catches his hand. He hears a sharp intake of breath. "Your room hasn't changed one bit."