Aman looked at Latif, studying him for a moment. Timid as usual.
Latif shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, then winced as Aman flicked his forehead.
"Ouch! Come on, stop it!" Latif complained, rubbing the spot. "You said you wanted to know the direction of my village and why we're here?"
His tone was laced with frustration, but he didn't dare raise it much. Not with Aman.
"Yeah, yeah. You shut up and wait," Aman replied flatly. "It's been a while since I actually took a bath… And there's a river here. I don't care what you say, I'm going in."
He began stripping off his clothesnjust a torn British uniform he had picked up from a soldier long gone. Now just him and his short.
"You know how it feels not to take a bath for a few days?" Aman shot a glance at Latif.
Latif shook his head, unsure how to respond.
"Exactly! It's torture, you know?" Aman exclaimed.
With a few steps back, he ran forward and leaped into the river with a splash. Water exploded around him, and for a moment, the world was still.
"Ahh… this is something else…" he sighed, his voice floating across the surface of the water.
Latif stood at the riverbank, arms crossed. "Actually… who are you?" he asked suddenly. "I've never seen you around here. And your accent's kinda weird."
Aman glanced over but said nothing, scrubbing his skin, soaking in the cold relief of the flowing river.
Latif tilted his head. "Like… you've got a gun! And that uniform… And and your eye! Where did it go?"
His curiosity had finally overridden his fear. Aman had beaten Rahim and his gang sent them running like rats. That meant something. Maybe he was dangerous, sure… but maybe he wasn't the bad guy. Maybe Rahim had just picked the wrong fight.
"You know, considering you beat them up, and I was seen with you… they probably think I'm your friend now. Great," Latif sighed. "They're gonna beat me up again for sure…"
Aman emerged from the river, dripping wet, and sat on a rock to dry off. "You really talk too much, huh?" he muttered. "I knew this girl once. She was the daughter of immigrants a Chinese girl. Not full of mouth like you. Kinda quiet, actually."
As he dressed again, wrapping his makeshift cloth around his neck and eye, Latif watched him thoughtfully.
"If you don't like them so much," Aman said to Latif "why don't you just leave them alone? Those people think they're better than you, right?"
"But it's not like I wanted to be friends with them in the first place…" Latif continued. "I don't want to see as freak or anything. Just lonely. But if I don't do what they tell me to do, they'll drag me into things."
Aman opened his sling bag, checked its contents, and exhaled in relief. "Good, nothing's missing. Can't believe I saw a river and went crazy enough to trust you with this. You're trustworthy, huh?"
He scratched his head, then adjusted the cloth around his eye again. "I'll tell you a secret, since you're so trustworthy. Sometimes, all those things we face… they're just things we have to confront. You can't keep running. If you run away, you lose."
He looked at Latif, his voice softer now.
"I used to be like you. Always scared. Always quiet. Then I just… swallowed it."
Latif stood up, unsure what to make of Aman's words. What did that even mean? "Swallow it"? He didn't get it. But he didn't interrupt. Something told him to just listen.
"Sometimes, we're just… unlucky," Aman continued. "But waiting for something good to happen? That's stupid. You have to act. If you're tired of your life, you either run or face the problem. And when you face it, you deal with the consequences."
Aman stepped closer, placing a hand on Latif's shoulder.
"Understand?"
Latif nodded, slowly. Not because he understood, but because it seemed like the right thing to do.
"I'm done here. Now take me to your village," Aman said.
Latif, blinking out of his daze, responded with a sudden, "Yes!"
...
The path curved along the edge of the forest before opening into a narrow valley.
Aman stood still at the edge of the village, looking down at the familiar layout of kampung houses and rice paddies, smoke trailing from the chimneys, the faint sound of chickens and goats blending with the breeze.
"Ahh, damn it," he muttered. "I'm starting to miss this feeling…"
Latif turned to him. "Actually… where are you from?"
"Kedah."
"You're from the north?! Then why are you here? With who?"
"Alone."
Latif looked puzzled. "Didn't the Japanese already take over there? Can I ask… are the Japanese really evil? Like the British officers in my area say?"
Aman snorted. "Japanese and evil… That's subjective. But fuck it fuck both sides. If I had to choose, I'd rather be captured by the British than the Japanese. If that tells you anything."
As they walked deeper into the village, a few curious eyes followed them. Villagers glanced at Aman. A Malay boy, in a torn British soldier's uniform. Odd. Suspicious even. But no one approached or questioned him.
The British, if they were ever stationed here, had long since disappeared probably retreated to the town or simply fled.
Aman looked around, silently calculating. Where's the nearest town from here?
Eventually, Latif led him to a modest wooden house with a rusting tin roof.
"Here. This is my house," Latif said, stepping up the wooden stairs and pulling the door curtain aside.
Aman followed, glancing around the small but well-kept space.
"Mom! Latif's home!" the boy called.
From inside, a woman's voice replied, "Oh, there's my son."
She appeared quickly, brushing flour from her hands onto her apron as she hurried to meet him. But the moment she reached Latif, her mood flipped.
Without warning, she grabbed his ear and twisted hard.
"Where have you been?!" she scolded. "It's been nearly a day! Do you know Makcik Siah came to me and said you punched her son?!"
"Ouch! Ouch! That hurts!" Latif groaned, trying to pull away.
Aman watched with slight amusement. Yup. That's definitely the mother.
Suddenly, the woman turned to him.
"Eh? Who's this?"
Still holding his ear, Latif answered, "Oh, this? This is the guy who slapped Makcik Siah's son. I found him in the woods."
"Oh! Your friend?" she asked, moving to Aman. "You're quiet, aren't you? Sorry about earlier. My son's just… well, he's just him. What's your name?"
"Aman," he replied, standing taller. Compared to her, he was noticeably bigger not that he meant to be intimidating.
"Oh, Aman. Where are you from?" she asked.
"He told me he's from Kedah," Latif answered for him. "Oh, and he ran away from the Japanese."
Aman glanced at him. Did I say that? He didn't recall ever telling Latif he was running from the Japanese. He must've added that detail on his own for drama, maybe. People did that sometimes. Humans were like that.
"Hmm… My parents?" Aman said aloud, pausing. "Dead. My mother was killed by the Japanese. My village was burned. My father? I haven't found him yet… probably dead too."
He said it too casually, but the woman didn't seem to notice.
"Oh, poor you… So you ran away from them," she said with a sigh.
Aman nodded. Easier this way.
He wasn't sure why, but it seemed like for now he had two people he could rely on, even temporarily. At least until he made his way to Kuala Lumpur.
But something didn't sit right.
Something was… off about this village.
Aman felt a strange, prickling sensation. As if someone was watching him.
He turned slightly, eyes narrowing, and caught movement near the window.
Someone was there.
A young adult.
Wearing glasses.
Watching him.