Bernard stood at the counter of Arnold's Fried Chicken, still soaking in the energy of the fans who had just taken selfies with him. The glow of the restaurant lights made the already crowded space feel even smaller, but Bernard didn't mind. He felt good. It wasn't every day you got treated like a celebrity.
The smell of crispy fried chicken filled the air, making his stomach rumble. He hadn't eaten in hours, and after all that parkour (or so he believed), he felt like he had earned a proper meal. He scanned the menu above the counter and finally decided on a combo meal.
"I'll have the half spring chicken meal with fries," Bernard said with a grin. "And a large iced lemon tea, please!"
The cashier, a young man with a wide smile and dark, curly hair, typed the order into the register. His nametag read Kumaravel. "Okay, sir," he said, glancing at the screen. "That'll be 12 dollars and 90 cents."
Bernard reached into his pocket, expecting to pull out his wallet, only to feel nothing but the fabric of his pants. His grin faded slightly as he patted his other pockets, but again, they were empty. His mind raced. Where had he put his wallet? And his phone? Surely he hadn't left everything behind at home…
After a few moments of awkward silence, Kumaravel looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Sir?"
Bernard stalled, scratching his head as he chuckled nervously. "Well, you see… I seem to have forgotten my wallet. Or any form of money, actually."
The smile faded from Kumaravel's face as he let out a soft sigh. "Sir… if you can't pay, I'll 'ave to cancel the order. Company policy."
"Cancel the order? No, no, no, please don't do that," Bernard said, his voice rising in desperation. "I mean, I'm famous, right? Surely I could get a free meal for being a famous parkour specialist?"
Kumaravel frowned, glancing at Bernard with a mix of confusion and impatience. "Sir, I 'ave to do my job, and I need to get paid too. I can't just give you a free meal because you're famous. It don't work like that."
"But I'm a parkour specialist!" Bernard insisted. "Surely that counts for something, doesn't it?"
Kumaravel tilted his head, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Parkour specialist? Why do you keep goin' on about being some parkoor speshalist?" He said the words slowly, his accent making the "r" sounds roll in a way Bernard hadn't expected.
Bernard's face twisted in frustration, and before he could stop himself, he found himself mocking the way Kumaravel had spoken. "'Why do you keep goin' on about being some parkoor speshalist?'" he repeated, mimicking the man's accent, exaggerating every word.
The mockery hung in the air for a moment, and a hush fell over the few people still lingering around the counter. Kumaravel's eyes widened slightly, but he kept his expression neutral. Instead of responding immediately, he simply stared at Bernard, who suddenly felt a bit of guilt creeping up his spine.
Realizing he had gone too far, Bernard quickly backpedaled. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean anything by that. But please… I'm really hungry. What if I showed you a trick? I could do something impressive—like a backflip off the roof of this place. If you and your coworkers are impressed, maybe you could give me the meal for free?"
Kumaravel blinked, clearly taken aback by the offer. He glanced over his shoulder at the other employees in the kitchen before turning back to Bernard. "A backflip off the roof?" he asked, as though trying to make sure he had heard correctly.
"Yeah!" Bernard nodded enthusiastically. "I'm a parkour specialist, after all. It'll be worth it, I promise."
Kumaravel rubbed his chin thoughtfully, clearly unsure of what to make of the situation. Finally, he let out a small sigh. "Wait here," he said. "Lemme talk to my boss."
With that, Kumaravel disappeared into the back of the kitchen, leaving Bernard standing at the counter. As he waited, he could feel the eyes of the remaining customers on him, their curiosity palpable. He straightened his posture, feeling Jiawei's presence beside him as she hyped him up.
"You've got this, Bernard," Jiawei whispered in his ear, her voice filled with excitement. "Show them what you're made of. You're a legend!"
Bernard grinned to himself, feeling a renewed sense of confidence. Yes, he could do this. He would show them all. And then he'd get his well-earned meal for free.
Meanwhile, several blocks away, Nathan was still wandering through Arab Street, in the Kampong Glam neighborhood. His frustration growing with each passing minute. He had told Sarah to go home, confident that he'd find his dad within ten minutes. Yet here he was, almost twenty minutes later, still no sign of Bernard, and feeling increasingly foolish for sending Sarah away. They could've covered more ground together, made the search faster, more efficient. But now, he was alone in the maze of streets, regretting his earlier decision.
The area was alive with energy, even at this late hour. Shophouses painted in bright, bold colors lined the street, their exteriors adorned with intricate murals and hand-painted signs advertising local boutiques, cafes, and textile shops. The scent of spices and Middle Eastern cuisine wafted through the air from nearby restaurants, mixing with the sounds of laughter and conversation from the outdoor seating areas. The towering minaret of Sultan Mosque loomed in the distance, its golden dome catching the soft glow of the streetlights.
Nathan weaved through clusters of people, his eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of his father. His pace quickened as he passed by a group of tourists snapping photos in front of a shop selling colorful rugs. He barely registered the bright lights of a nearby cafe, where patrons were enjoying late-night drinks and snacks. Normally, he might have paused to take in the sights and sounds of the vibrant neighborhood, but tonight, all he could think about was finding Bernard.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his anxious thoughts. He pulled it out, hoping for some clue as to where his father might have gone. It was a message from Sarah.
Sarah: You need to see this if you still haven't found him yet.
Nathan's heart skipped a beat as he opened the message. Sarah had sent him a link to a social media post. With a mixture of curiosity and dread, he tapped on it.
The link took him to a trending post with a headline that made his stomach drop:
"Flying Durian Man Spotted at Arnold's Fried Chicken Taking Selfies with Manager!"
Nathan stared at the post in disbelief. The image showed his father, Bernard, grinning from ear to ear as he posed for a selfie with the manager of Arnold's Fried Chicken. In the background, several customers had their phones out, clearly excited to be in the presence of the infamous "Flying Durian Man." Bernard looked like he was having the time of his life.
Nathan couldn't help but let out a small laugh, the absurdity of it all was almost too much to handle, but at least now he knew where Bernard was.
He quickly typed out a response to Sarah.
Nathan: Thanks, Sarah.
With a sigh of relief, Nathan pocketed his phone and turned in the direction of Shaw Tower, where Arnold's Fried Chicken was located around. It wasn't far—just a ten-minute walk from Arab Street—but it'd feel like an eternity making his way through the bustling crowds of Kampong Glam. The brightly lit storefronts and colorful murals seemed to blur together as his focus narrowed on getting to the restaurant as quickly as possible.
As he walked, he couldn't help but reflect on the sheer unpredictability of his father's actions. He thought about how Dr. Lim mentioned medication before, "As much as I'd like to give dad his medication, the only problem is that it will still be a while until his newly prescribed schizophrenia medication will be ready." he muttered to himself.