A Memory & Another Chinese Speaker

Hum

The office's air conditioning hummed softly as Arvin sat at the back desk, still amazed by how much had changed in just a few hours. The borrowed clothes from Fang Chou - a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants - hung loose on his frame but felt wonderfully warm against his skin. Through the window, the setting sun painted golden stripes across the room, illuminating dust motes that danced in the quiet air.

From his spot near the large refrigerator, Arvin studied a perfectly red apple sitting before him on the desk. Its polished surface caught the evening light, reminding him how different things were now compared to just yesterday. The contrast felt surreal - from spending the night in a playground dome to sitting in a nice office, cleaned up and with food readily available.

Tap Tap

His fingers drummed lightly against the desk as he caught his reflection in the window. The person staring back seemed like a stranger - so different from the dirty boy who'd been wandering Manhattan's streets since dawn.

Crunch

The apple's crisp flesh yielded between his teeth, flooding his mouth with a perfect balance of sweet and tart. The familiar taste triggered a memory from his training days...

______________________________

The afternoon sun hung low over the training ground, casting long shadows across the field. A 10 years old Arvin lay stretched out on the grass, chest rising and falling heavily after the morning's intense session.

(Indonesian) "Arvin," his grandpa's voice carried clearly across the field, "today will be your final lesson."

Shuffle Rustle

The boy sat up quickly, excitement overcoming his exhaustion. (Indonesian) "Really, Grandpa? Will you finally teach me that punching technique, then?"

His grandfather's weathered face creased into a smile, though his eyes held something deeper. (Indonesian) "No, my child. Today's lesson is more important than any technique. Though, I'll teach it to you later."

The old man lowered himself to sit beside Arvin on the grass, he went silent for some time as he wait Arvin to catch his breath.

(Indonesian) "You've grown strong, Arvin. Faster than I expected." His voice took on a grave tone. "But strength without wisdom is like a sword without a handle - dangerous to both enemy and wielder."

Rising with practiced grace, the elderly man motioned for his grandson to follow. They walked to where a massive boulder marked the field's edge. Without warning, the grandfather's arm snapped forward. The rock exploded, fragments scattering across the grass as a perfect fist-shaped hole appeared in its center.

(Indonesian) "That was only fifty percent of my power," the old man said quietly. "You now possess similar strength. But remember this - our art isn't meant for destruction. It's for protection. The true measure of a martialist isn't in how many he can defeat, but in how many he can save."

Young Arvin nodded, transfixed by the demonstration.

(Indonesian) "Listen carefully, Arvin. Life will present you with many chances to help others. Choose wisely whom you help - not because some deserve it more, but because helping means committing yourself completely. Sometimes, helping the right person at the right time can create ripples that change many lives."

His grandfather's stern expression softened. (Indonesian) "The rewards of such choices often come in unexpected ways. Remember that when-"

______________________________

Groan

Jeremy's pained sound pulled Arvin from his memories. Setting down his half-eaten apple, he rose from the desk and moved toward the front of the office to check on Jeremy's condition. As he approached, voices filtered through the red door - Fang Chou's familiar tone mixed with unfamiliar female voices.

Squeak

His borrowed shoes made a soft noise as he reached the door, hand hovering over the handle. Through the small window, movement caught his eye - a flash of blonde hair. A girl in the same cream-colored uniform as Jeremy knelt beside the couch.

The scene made him pause. She ran her fingers through Jeremy's hair with a gentleness that spoke of deep familiarity. Her blonde hair fell past her shoulders in straight lines, catching the evening light.

"Why do you always get yourself into trouble?" Her soft English words carried clearly in the quiet room. "You could have just called me, you know that right?"

Arvin remained still, not wanting to interrupt what seemed like a private moment. Every gesture she made - adjusting the blanket, smoothing Jeremy's hair - revealed a connection deeper than mere friendship.

Squeak

His shoe betrayed him with a slight sound against the floor. The young woman spun instantly, placing herself protectively between Jeremy and the door. Arvin found himself studying her features - unlike the other Western girls he'd seen today at the school gates or on the streets, there was something different about her. Her dark eyes, sharp and alert, fixed on him with an intensity that seemed almost familiar, reminding him of his master's focused gaze during training. Despite her foreign features, she carried herself with a distinct grace, her movements was precise and measured.

"Who are you?" Her question cut through the air like a knife.

At the same moment, Arvin asked in Chinese, (Chinese) "Excuse me, but may I know who you are?"

They locked eyes, neither backing down. The tension in the room thickened as Arvin raised his hands slightly, falling back on the gestures he'd been using all day to communicate.

(Chinese) "I asked first," she responded unexpectedly in perfect Chinese. "Who are you and why are you here?"

Arvin's mouth fell open slightly. Her Chinese sounded as natural as his own, complete with proper tones and inflections. It felt surreal hearing such familiar speech from someone who looked so different from anyone he knew.

(Chinese) "My name is Arvin," he answered carefully, maintaining his distance. "Mr. Fang invited me to stay."

Her eyes narrowed further. (Chinese) "That doesn't answer why you're here."

(Chinese) "I helped Jeremy earlier," He explained, keeping his voice steady despite her scrutiny. "Mr. Fang insisted I stay for dinner."

(Chinese) "Helped him?" Her gaze flicked to Jeremy's battered face before returning to Arvin, suspicion clear in her expression. "What exactly happened?"

(Chinese) "I apologize, but I believe that's something Jeremy should explain himself," Arvin replied, choosing his words carefully. "I merely assisted when I saw he needed help."

Her jaw clenched at his vague answer. She seemed about to push further when footsteps echoed from the store, growing closer to their door.

They stood frozen, like strangers caught in an awkward moment. The only sounds were their breathing and the muffled bustle of shoppers beyond the office walls.

Groan

"Ungh..." Jeremy's soft moan broke the standoff.

The girl moved quickly back toward Jeremy while keeping her eyes on Arvin. Despite her obvious concern for Jeremy, she stayed between them, her posture making it clear she didn't trust him yet.

Arvin didn't move, knowing any sudden movement might make things worse. He noticed how she flinched at Jeremy's second groan - clearly wanting to help but unwilling to turn her back on a stranger.

Squeak

The door handle turned, drawing both their attention. As the red door swung open, fluorescent light from the store briefly flooded the dimmer office...

Clack

The door opened, breaking the tense atmosphere. Fang Chou walked in with a smile that quickly faded when he sensed the heavy mood in the room.

"Cynthia? What are you doing here?" He glanced between his daughter and Arvin. "I see you've met our guest."

"Dad, who is he?" Cynthia asked, her voice softening but still carrying a note of concern.

"Ah, this young man helped your brother." Fang Chou switched to Chinese as he turned to Arvin. (Chinese) "This is my daughter, Cynthia. I forgot to mention her earlier."

(A sister? But they look nothing alike), Arvin thought, trying not to stare too obviously.

"Dad, what happened to Jeremy?" Cynthia pressed, her hands clasped tightly in front of her uniform skirt.

"I don't know the details yet," Fang Chou admitted, running a hand through his hair. "But Arvin here brought him here."

Cynthia moved forward, her protective stance softening slightly. Looking at Arvin directly, she spoke in the same perfect Chinese she'd used earlier. (Chinese) "Then I should thank you for helping my brother. And..." she hesitated, "apologize for my suspicion earlier."

Fang Chou's jaw dropped. (Chinese) "Wait... Cynthia? Since when could you speak like that?"

She glanced at her father, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. (Chinese) "You remember that Grandma taught us right? I just... practiced more often." Her voice grew quieter. (Chinese) "Usually alone in my room."

(Chinese) "So that's what I've been hearing," Fang Chou said softly, his surprise giving way to understanding. (Chinese) "Your grandmother would be proud if she was here."

A gentle smile crossed Cynthia's face at the mention of her grandmother, but it faded quickly as she looked back at Jeremy. She moved to adjust his blanket, her earlier suspicion of Arvin replaced by quiet gratitude.

Arvin watched their interaction quietly, struck by how quickly the mood had shifted. The tension from moments ago had melted into something warmer, more familiar.

Rustle

"Ungh..." A moan from the sofa drew everyone's attention. Jeremy stirred, blinking slowly as he tried to focus.

"Jeremy!" Cynthia rushed to help him while he looked around in confusion.

"Cynthia? When did you..." His eyes widened as he took in the scene - his father, sister, and Arvin all standing around him. "Oh shoot, how long was I out?"

"About an hour," Fang Chou answered, and Jeremy's forehead creased as he processed this information.

"An hour? That's... longer than I thought," Jeremy said slowly.

Fang Chou moved closer, his earlier cheerfulness replaced by concern as he finally got a good look at his son's injuries. "Jeremy, what's going on?" he asked quietly. "And don't say it's nothing - I can see those bruises clear as day."

Jeremy glanced at Cynthia, who had gone very still beside him. "Dad, I..."

"It was Tery and his gang, wasn't it?" Cynthia's voice barely rose above a whisper. "They did this because of what I said."

The room fell silent as Jeremy's lack of response confirmed her suspicion. Fang Chou's face darkened with anger, but before he could speak, Arvin stepped forward.

(Chinese) "If I may," he said, drawing everyone's attention. "Those who hurt Jeremy have received their... lesson. They won't be bothering either of you for a while."

Something in Arvin's tone seemed to dissolve the building tension. Jeremy shifted, trying to push himself up from the couch. His father quickly moved to help, supporting his back as he settled into a sitting position.

(Chinese) "Wait, his injuries are quite severe," Arvin protested, concerned by their casual handling of Jeremy's condition.

Fang Chou waved off his worry. (Chinese) "Don't worry about it. He's tougher than he looks."

Jeremy managed a weak grin. (Chinese) "Yeah, Dad's right. I heal quick."

"Quick? Ha! Remember when you were seven and fell off your bike? You cried for hours!" Cynthia's voice carried a hint of relief as she fell into familiar teasing.

"That was different - and I was seven!" Jeremy's face flushed red. "Besides, you're the one who freaked out and wanted to rush me to the ER for a scraped knee."

"Hey, it was bleeding!" Fang Chou protested.

"It was barely a scratch!"

Arvin stood to the side, unable to follow their rapid English exchange but noting how their animated expressions had replaced the earlier tension. The way they shifted so naturally between concern and playful banter reminded him of something his mother once said about family being able to worry and joke in the same breath.

"Alright, alright," Fang Chou finally said, checking his watch. "Let's give Jeremy another thirty minutes to rest, then we'll head home." He turned to Arvin, switching back to Chinese. (Chinese) "My wife's cooking is the best - you'll see!"

Watching their interactions, Arvin could only think one thing: (What a weird family.)