They say the hardest storms don’t always come with thunder. Sometimes, they arrive quietly — in the silence of unanswered calls, in the pit of a man’s stomach when trust shatters.
Chris Lee sat at the mamak[1] stall, elbows on cold metal, his phone clenched in hand. The screen glowed with the same name he had dialed for the past hour.
Ring after ring. No answer. Around him, the world carried on — laughter, clattering spoons, football commentary from a TV in the corner. To Chris, it was all just static. The whispers in his head were louder:
What if the money’s gone?
What will I tell Mei, with the baby coming?
What about my mother, her medicine?
He had trusted too easily. Loyal, dependable, he’d always helped when asked — even with money. So when his closest friend promised a golden return, Chris believed. He didn’t just believe — he poured in everything. Now, silence.
The weight of betrayal sat like stone in his chest. Mei was heavy with their third child. His mother’s illness demanded more than he could afford. Bills stacked around him like closing walls.
Chris lowered the phone. Its screen dimmed, leaving only his hollow reflection. For the first time, he felt the quiet pull of surrender.
He rose, steps dragging toward the parking lot. A thought coiled around him, bitter yet comforting:
Maybe an accident would be easier. If something happened to me, at least the insurance might take care of Mei, the kids, the debts.
He imagined a swerve on the highway, headlights blinding, the clean finality of it. No need to pull a trigger, no bottle of pills. Just… fate doing the work.
His hand fumbled for car keys. Empty pockets. Nothing. “Of course,” he muttered bitterly.
Then he saw it.
A taxi idled at the edge of the lot, headlights low, waiting. The driver’s silhouette was shadow, faceless. The passenger door clicked open.
Chris froze. His chest tightened. This was it — his way out, offered without him lifting a finger. If he got in, maybe he wouldn’t have to return. Maybe the road itself would decide for him.
For a moment, he stood there, trembling, his body half-turned to leave. You can still walk away. Go home. Pretend you never saw it.
But another voice cut through: There’s nothing left to lose. Step inside, and you won’t have to fight anymore. At least
Chris’s legs felt like stone, but they moved. He lowered himself into the back seat, a prisoner surrendering to the inevitable. The taxi pulled away without a word.
“Where to?” the driver asked casually.
Chris gave a dry laugh. “If I knew… I wouldn’t be here.”
The taxi drifted through dark streets. The driver’s voice came again, quiet but firm: “Sometimes… you’ve already carried more than you realize.”
The world outside blurred. When it cleared, Chris was standing at his old family home. On the porch, his mother — not frail, but as she once was, strong and warm.
“Chris,” she said gently, “what’s the matter?”
Tears welled. His voice cracked, spilling out like a child’s complaint: “It’s not fair… I can’t do this anymore… everything’s too heavy.”
She pulled him close. “Shh, my silly child. You’ve carried so much. But you are not alone. You never were.”
Her arms held him until a hand tapped his shoulder.
His father stood there, tall, steady, eyes sharp with pride.
“Do you remember what you promised me?”
Chris lowered his gaze, trembling.
His father’s hand rested on him. “Being head of a house is never easy. But you’ve done it well. You can fight this, just as you did when I was gone.”
Warmth pressed against his back. Mei’s embrace, her voice soft: “You told me we’re in this together.”
Two small figures clung to his legs. His children, pleading: “Papa, don’t go. We need you.”
As he held them, Mei pressed closer. Against her belly, Chris felt a sudden kick. The unborn child — reminding him, I’m here too.
Chris shut his eyes, clutching them all. For a moment, the weight of despair melted into their fragile circle.
Then—blink.
He was back in the taxi. The road jolted with potholes.
“The road isn’t smooth,” the driver said calmly. “It makes us want to stop. But if the destination is near… why give up because of a few holes?”
Chris’s chest tightened. Something inside him shifted.
His eyes snapped open to the buzz of his phone alarm. The taxi, the driver — gone. Beside him, Mei slept. He reached for her belly, felt a faint kick. Tears rose, but not of despair — of clarity.
He remembered their voices, their touch. The temptation to surrender loosened. Resolve took its place.
“I’ll keep my promise,” he whispered. “I’ll see this through.”
Later that morning, Chris stepped outside. At the corner, a taxi idled.
The silhouette behind the wheel raised a calm hand before pulling away.
Chris watched it disappear, a quiet smile breaking through.
The road ahead was rough. But he knew now — he was still moving forward.
[1] "Mamak" In Malaysia, primarily refers to Indian Muslims and 24-hour restaurants serving a mix of Indian and Malay cuisine. They are a common hangout spot for Malaysians of all backgrounds.
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