“Mely...” she called out to Dad Radit, poking her head out of the car window before pulling over until the tires kissed the curb.
Mely jumped in surprise, nearly dropping the drink bottle Regi had given her into the gutter.
“Why are you here? Didn’t Dad tell you to stay home?”
Mely grimaced, then flashed a grin as she tried to put on her signature smile.
“Hehe... I was just heading to work, Dad.”
Dad Radit immediately got out of the car without turning off the engine, ignoring the parking attendant who was already eyeing him suspiciously. With lightning speed, he grabbed Mely’s hand, pulled her into the car, and slammed the door like a Secret Service agent in some big-budget Hollywood movie.
“Didn’t Dad already tell you not to work this month? I’m still figuring out what to do about you. Once I’ve taken care of everything, you can go back to your normal activities.”
“But, Dad... what about the pile of work on my desk? If I keep leaving it there, my work’s going to fall behind and turn into a complete mess.” Mely’s excuse was really just a cover for how much she hated running into her stepmother at home. Maybe it was the awkwardness whenever they talked. Maybe they simply hadn’t found any chemistry or emotional connection yet. Whatever the cause, interactions between Mely and Sintia often felt stiff, forced, and uncomfortable. Even though Sintia had been a mother figure to the chatty Mely for more than a decade.
Meanwhile, Dad Radit glanced around the parking lot, searching for Mely’s car. Then he answered his daughter.
“As for your work, let Dad handle it! Besides, where’s your car? Why didn’t you drive it here?”
Dad Radit furrowed his brow in puzzlement. Mely’s car hadn’t been in the garage when he left earlier, which had made him anxious and driven him to search for her. He hadn’t expected to find her here.
“Driving would’ve made me easier to spot, Dad..! They know my license plate. Besides, Mom borrowed the car, and my license expired.”
“Mom borrowed it?” Dad Radit repeated to make sure he’d heard correctly.
“Yeah, Dad.”
“What for? And what’s wrong with the car?” Dad Radit asked quietly, growing suspicious. Sintia had seemed busy lately and was hardly ever home.
Dad Radit fell silent. His gaze sharpened as he stared blankly ahead, realizing that something wasn’t right.
*Is she cheating on me?* he wondered. Then he looked away, chuckling inwardly as he brushed off the dark suspicion.
*Why would she cheat, anyway? My good looks would never let Sintia turn away from me. Ha-ha.*
Time passed. That afternoon, as usual, Regi finished loading his merchandise boxes onto his scooter.
“Ami, lock the door tight if Mom still isn’t home yet.”
“Okay, Bro. Be careful on the way. The air’s freezing, and it might rain again,” Ami replied gently as she handed him a gray knitted scarf. Regi accepted it and immediately wrapped it around his neck.
After Regi left, the house fell silent again. Ami opened her history notebook, which still smelled of fresh paper, beneath her bedroom’s fluorescent light. Then she began summarizing her schoolwork.
Outside, a light drizzle began to soak the asphalt.
Among the rows of stalls, a sturdy wooden table stood beneath a blue canopy. White LED lights made Regi’s stall look cleaner and easier to see. On the table sat stacks of hats and all kinds of cheap glasses, in various shapes and frames ranging from classic to trendy. Rows of imitation leather belts hung neatly from the accessory display.
Behind it all stood Regi.
He looked absorbed in arranging his merchandise, a sharp contrast to his handsome features. His fair skin had darkened from the sunlight he endured while working as a parking attendant.
The hood of his gray hoodie covered his forehead, its edge already torn. His curly hair was a messy, loose tangle that partly covered his forehead, giving him the rough-and-ready look of a young street vendor.
“How much, bro?” a customer suddenly asked, examining the hat in his hand.
“It’s got a price tag, bro. Twenty-five thousand. Don’t haggle, okay? My face isn’t exactly friendly enough for negotiations right now,” Regi said flatly, turning slightly toward the customer in front of him.
“Whoa, take it easy, bro! Why are you coming in so hot? You sound like an electric bike with busted brakes,” the young man replied with an awkward laugh. But he quickly set down the exact amount and took off. Not because he was offended, but because he knew who stood behind that stall. The day before yesterday, three notoriously vicious market thugs had ended up sprawled on the ground with their jaws shifted out of place after trying to extort protection money from Regi. Since then, the thugs had preferred crossing the street rather than trying to extort him—or even looking Regi in the eye for more than three seconds.
Regi fell silent again, taking a sip of his nearly cold black coffee.
Not long afterward, a shrill voice shattered the silence of the night, bringing with it a storm of chaos he had never expected, along with a strange feeling—maybe happiness. Regi wasn’t sure.
“Bro Regi is handsome but so out of touch... Can’t you smile a little when you’re selling? Your luck’s going to run away! Don’t lock your face into that expression. You look like you’re rejecting customers!”
Regi let out a quiet snort and lazily glanced toward the source of the voice. At the same time, a sudden burst of happiness welled up inside him.
A girl stood there, breathing hard.
Mely.
Her appearance was the definition of today’s urban youth: a modest oversized T-shirt, old-fashioned jeans, and spotless white sneakers that stood out against the muddy street. But her mouth? A weapon of mass destruction.
“You again, Mely,” Regi muttered heavily, so quietly it was almost inaudible.
“Yeah, it’s me...