Crossword

ten | 休息

AT TWENTY-ONE, JUN THINKS HE KNOWS HOW TO TAKE A BREAK.

His mother disagrees, though. "You're going to work yourself to death, Jun. What time is it?" He hears rustling, imagines his mother glancing at the clock. "It's two o'clock. Have you eaten lunch yet?"

His gaze slides to the packet of chashao fan on the table of his office, untouched. There's even a paper bag of egg waffles - his favourite. He runs a hand through his hair and turns back towards the window. "No. I'll eat right after this, I promise."

She sighs, and he can see her shaking her head. "I'm telling you, Jun. Don't get me wrong - I'm very proud of you. Very few people can say that they run a company at twenty, let alone a company they started, on top of trying to get a degree. But sometimes, I really don't know if you're running the company or the company is running you."

He smiles. "I just got out of a meeting. They're accepting the plans for a game we designed. We're going to get it out on the market within two years, ma."

"And I'm happy for you," she says. "But I'll be happier if you get something to eat, Jun. You can't run a company on an empty stomach -"

As she goes on on the benefits of eating enough, Jun surveys his office. It's tucked in the corner of the building, and it's simple, just a desk with a huge computer, a low coffee table for meals, a bookshelf, and a sofa he sleeps on sometimes when it's too late or too early and he's too tired to go home.

It's not lavish, a far cry from even a regular worker's office at one of the hotshot companies that produce the biggest games. But it's generous, especially considering it's something he's started with a few friends who are all juggling work and university.

"Ma," he interrupts as she pauses to take a breath of air. He sits down at the table, taking care to rustle the plastic bag extra loudly so she'll hear it through the phone. Sliding the chopsticks out of their plastic covering, he says, "I'm eating right now, see?"

"Yeah?" Her tone is suspicious. "What're you eating?"

"Chashao fan," he says. "I think one of my friends brought it over for me." The rice has long since gone cold, but he uses the chopsticks to shovel the food into his mouth quickly, only now realising his hunger.

"I'll leave you to it, then." She pauses. Jun's halfway through the packet now. "And Jun?"

"Yes?"

"Take a break, okay?"

She hangs up, but Jun only dimly registers the beep of the phone. Suddenly instead of the table in front of him, he's looking at another one, familiar from years spent in the apartment he shared with Han.

Yen slid a bottle over to him. Do you know what this is?

The label had been haphazardly torn off, but the second he registered the white, the careless tear, he knew what it was. He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. Antidepressants.

Her voice is flat. You knew?

What?

A few minutes ago, Yue took half the bottle in one go.

In the kitchen behind them, something crashed. His mouth opened and closed.

She glanced at him. I've known you since we were six, Jun. I can tell if you're going to lie.

Because that's the thing about childhood friends. They'd known each other so long, they're permanent figures in each other's memories. His most prominent memories involve Yen - watching Singapore go to sleep, running until his soles ached, finally beating his father in chess. His arm fell onto the table. Yes, I knew.

How long?

He thought back to that Chinese New Year. Sitting with Yue in the train, and then in counselling sessions. Pleading with her to take her meds, to tell her family. Always hearing the words, "Not yet."

Six years.

Six years. She laughed bitterly, and in the empty room, it echoed. I can't do this, Jun.

His heart climbed into his throat and stopped. What do you mean?

What happens to us? We get married, start a life together. And then what? Children. Her breath caught. I can't be a mother. I can't even take care of Yue and Jia-Le. Did you know she's had those pills in her room for months?

So don't do it alone, he said. Let me help you.

Help me how? She took in a breath, and it trembled, threatening to break. By lying to me? Because of - what? Because you didn't think I could handle it?

He'd always admired her courage, her ability to fight the past, take its lessons, and come out of it stronger. But then, his eyes tracing her tear-soaked eyes and pale cheeks, he was suddenly reminded of the recurring nightmares of her dying, of him standing by and not being able to do anything about it.

The light flickered. His gaze could not meet hers.

The back of her hand brushed against her eyes. Why, Jun? Am I that weak to you? To everyone around me? Does everyone think I'm not old enough to make decisions for myself?

No. Yen -

It feels, she whispered, like I'm breaking.

You have a high pain tolerance, Jun remembered his dentist saying. But it sure as hell didn't feel like it when it felt like a thousand anaesthetic needles were carving patterns across his face and he was being burnt alive.

He opened his mouth. The words never came.

I love you, Jun. Her hair fell in waves around her face, hiding her eyes. But I think we should take a break.

When he looked at her, he registered how despite the hot tears quivering on the edges of her eyes, her gaze was steadfast as it met his. Are you sure?

Her fingers threaded through each other, and it ached, because he knew he'd never thread his through hers again. It's not a goodbye, Jun. It's just a see you again.

But it sure feels like a goodbye, considering how he hasn't heard from her in a year. He knows - word spreads so easily - that Yue is getting better now, has even run into her once or twice. It would be so easy to turn up at their apartment, at Yen's university, at one of the food stalls she loves to haunt. He even has her number, still.

He won't, though. Not just because they're taking a break, but because of who he is. It's why he's made peace with his father, why he never called after Yen's family moved away. He doesn't want to force her into staying if she doesn't want to.

He knows how to take a break. It's something he's practised for years.

It's just that - it's so easy for breaks to become indefinite. And as he stares at his phone, waiting for a call he knows will never come, he wonders, just when do breaks stop?

✽

chashao fan 叉烧饭
barbecued pork with rice. pictures do not do it justice