2:17 a.m. The shrill ringtone of her phone pierced through the stillness of the night like a knife. Emily jolted awake from a chaotic dream. When she saw "Mom" flashing on the screen, her throat tightened—there was no way a call at this hour could be good news.
"Emily, your dad…" Her mother's voice was raw, every word trembling. "The creditors came to the shop… He got too agitated and… and collapsed…"
Emily's world spun. Her fingers clenched the bedsheet. "How is he now?" Her voice sounded distant, like it came from someone else.
"The doctor said… cerebral hemorrhage…" Her mother's voice broke into sobs. "They need to perform surgery immediately…"
"I'm coming home now!" Emily was already on her feet, her bare soles stung by the cold tiles. She hung up and began packing in a daze. Her hands trembled as she stuffed essentials into her backpack. Her father's gentle, smiling face haunted her mind—he used to pull candies from his pockets like magic whenever she scraped her knees. And now he was fighting for his life in an operating room.
By dawn, Emily boarded the earliest bus to Ipoh. The city lights faded into misty outlines of rubber trees outside the window, but all she could see was the blinking green line on a monitor and her father's pale, lifeless face. Four hours felt like an eternity. She clutched her phone the whole way, dreading yet hoping for any updates from the hospital.
The acrid smell of antiseptic hit her as she stepped into Ipoh General Hospital. On a bench outside the operating theater, she saw her mother—usually so upright and proud—curled up like a dried leaf. When she heard footsteps, she looked up, her swollen eyes brimming with fresh tears.
"Mom…" Emily opened her arms, and her mother collapsed into them. The scent of cooking oil and faint sweat clung to her—Emily had never felt the idea of "home" so fragile.
Through the ICU window, her father looked terrifyingly still. Tubes and wires snaked out of him, the vapor on his oxygen mask waxing and waning. Emily pressed her palm against the cold glass as if trying to transfer warmth through it. The man who once lifted her effortlessly now looked as breakable as porcelain.
After three sleepless days, her father finally made it through the danger zone. Returning to their old home, Emily realized her legs had turned to jelly. On the wall, the family photo from Kek Lok Tong hung cheerfully, her father beaming with pride as he held her close. That same man now lay with a feeding tube down his nose.
"Sit down, I'll make your favorite shredded chicken hor fun," her mother's voice called from the kitchen, followed by the rhythmic clatter of a wok.
Emily stepped into the kitchen, immediately embraced by the fragrant aroma of curry. Her mother's back looked frail enough to be swept away by a breeze, but her hands moved with practiced speed.
"Let me help." Emily reached for the spatula.
"You can't get this taste in KL," her mother gently brushed her off and sprinkled in some bean sprouts. "If your dad wakes up and hears I didn't make you authentic Ipoh hor fun, he'll scold me."
The first mouthful slid down her throat, and Emily's tears finally spilled. The rich shrimp paste, chewy rice noodles, and her mother's sambal tasted like encrypted memories from childhood. Chasing dreams in Kuala Lumpur, she had forgotten this grounding, humble flavor.
"Mom… how much debt?" she asked, lowering her chopsticks.
Her mother stirred her coffee slowly. "One hundred and fifty thousand ringgit… He borrowed from loan sharks."
The number hit Emily like a punch to the gut. She recalled how her father had quietly given her money for her studies last year, how her mother always said, "We don't spend much in the village."
"I can skip the UK. I'll work in KL—we'll pay it back together…"
"Don't be ridiculous!" Her mother slammed the table, the coffee cup rattled. Then her tone softened. "Meili, do you know what your father is proudest of? Not the repair shop—it's your full scholarship offer."
Her father's first words from the hospital bed echoed that pride. "Your… study plans… going well?" His voice was weak, but his eyes were bright.
When Emily used part of Ryan's money to pay off some debt, the man who never showed pain cried like a child. "It's my fault… I held you back…"
"We're family." Emily held his calloused hand, feeling the rough texture that years of fixing bikes had left.
On the return bus to Kuala Lumpur, Emily clutched the salted chicken and white coffee her mother had packed. For the first time, she realized she stood at a true crossroads. Lily's joy over the Ipoh treats and Mrs. Tan's casual comment about starting a restaurant echoed in her mind.
Meanwhile, across the city, Ryan stared at his phone, unread messages flooding in. Kai's texts ranged from begging to threats—a psychological siege.
"Just ten minutes…" said the latest.
At the whisky bar, Kai's fingers brushed against Ryan's hand. What once made Ryan tremble now felt numb.
"I messed up. I really did…" Kai's eyes glittered under the neon lights like a venomous snake.
Ryan downed half a glass, the alcohol burning his throat but not his heart. After that rainy-night car crash, when he was only nine, Ryan would wake up screaming from nightmares. Lucas had to take over the family law firm and was always busy. It wasn't until years later, when he met Kai as an adult, that someone finally stayed through the night.
But now, this relationship was just sharp teeth in a toxic dance.
"You fell for that fake marriage girl, didn't you?" Kai suddenly hissed.
Ryan's fist hit the bar. The glass toppled. Not from rage, but because Kai had struck a nerve—he couldn't deny that the girl who brought Ipoh snacks into his life had shown him another path.
On the rain-slicked street, Ryan tilted his head back, letting cold drops wash his face. His phone lit up with a message thread—Emily.
What he didn't know was that Emily, at that very moment, was staring blankly at her UK admission letter, a handwritten restaurant plan draft beside it.
In the rainy haze of Kuala Lumpur, two uncertain hearts teetered at the edge of their own abysses. Fate had already sown its seeds in their shared glances, in the quiet laughter over hometown snacks. They just didn't know yet—the cost of a love that began as nothing more than a transaction.