The shop door creaked when it was pushed open.
Inside, everything was still the same. The same wooden tables. The same fluorescent lights that used to flicker all the time. Even the knife marks on table number 3, made by Arif when he was twelve, were still there.
Only now, the walls had been repainted. The kitchen had been cleaned. And above the stove, eight grilled chickens turned slowly, giving off a smell that made Arif's Mom tremble all over.
It was a smell she'd forgotten. A smell she thought she'd never breathe in again for the rest of her life.
Arif said nothing. He only pulled out a chair for his mother. Pulled out a chair for his father. Pulled out a chair for his younger sibling. His wife sat in the farthest corner, keeping out of the way. The bear lay beneath the table. The jaguar sat beside the door, watching outside.
No one said anything for the first five minutes.
Arif's Mom was the first. She took a plate, set a chicken on it, and poured over the same soy sauce she used to make back then. She put the first bite in her mouth, then cried without a sound. Her tears fell onto the rice.
Arif's Dad remained stiff in his chair. His hands were still clenched. For two years, he had hated this son. For two years, he had woken in the middle of the night wondering whether his son was still alive or had died in the drain. Now he didn't know whether he wanted to hit this son or embrace him.
"Where did you go?" he finally asked. His voice broke.
Arif didn't answer. He only placed a receipt on the table.
The shop's sales receipt. Buyer: Arif Ahmad. Total paid: RM 720,000. Paid in full, cash.
"I bought it back," Arif said quietly.
Arif's Dad stared at the receipt. And for the first time in his life, he cried. He covered his face with both hands and wept like a little boy. Arif's Dad stared at the receipt. And for the first time in his life, he cried. He covered his face with both hands and wept like a little boy.
At that moment, the shop door opened.
Uncle Ngah entered first. The man who used to smack Arif on the head with a broom. The man who kicked him out of the coffee shop when he asked for a packet of nasi lemak for his sick younger sibling.
He stood in the doorway. He didn't dare come in.
"Arif," he said. His voice trembled. "We... we're all outside. We're sorry."
The man raised his head. He looked at Uncle Ngah. Then he looked at all the faces appearing behind the door. All the neighbors. Everyone who had ever looked down on him. Everyone who had ever closed their doors when he came asking for help.
Everyone who now knew he was rich.
Arif wasn't angry. He didn't laugh. He only shook his head slowly.
"Don't apologize," he said. "I didn't come here to forgive anyone. I didn't come here for revenge, either."
He pointed toward the table piled with hot grilled chicken.
"Everyone can come in. Eat. It's all free. For one month. Like I promised."
He paused for a moment.
"But remember one thing. If all of you didn't want to give me a packet of nasi lemak worth two ringgit back then, don't come asking me now for anything worth two hundred thousand. I won't give it to you."
Everyone in the doorway fell silent.
"You can eat. You can sit. You can laugh. But from now on, we're all equal. No one is above anyone else. No one is below anyone else. I don't owe you anything. You don't owe me anything, either."
He took a plate of chicken and set it in front of his younger sibling, who still didn't dare speak.
"I only came back to take care of my family. That's all."
In the far corner, Arif's wife smiled a little. It was a smile only she understood.
The bear yawned beneath the table.
The jaguar closed its eyes by the door.
And outside, the rain continued to fall in a fine drizzle. For the first time in two years, at the grilled chicken shop in Taman Damai, no one was hungry.