The air-con in my Ang Mo Kio HDB room was blasting at 18 degrees, but sweat was trickling down the back of my neck. I adjusted my collared shirt, checked my hair in the mirror, and picked up my haversack.
1:45 PM.
If I took the feeder bus to Yio Chu Kang MRT now, I could make it to Bugis Junction by 2:30 PM to meet Ah Beng and Jeremy for a quick round of Valorant before dinner.
My phone on the desk suddenly buzzed. The ringtone sounded like an air raid siren.
Incoming Video Call: Cheryl ❤️
I took a deep breath, pasted on my most obedient bf face, and swiped green.
“Ah Bee!” Cheryl’s face filled the screen. She was sitting in her office at Raffles Place, her framed portrait of Singapore’s skyline visible behind her. “You ready to leave house already?”
“Yeah, darling. Just about to tap out,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Bus coming in five minutes.”
Cheryl narrowed her eyes, zooming in on my reflection in the webcam. “Wait ah. You wearing short sleeves? I thought today raining later? Bring umbrella or not? And why your hair so spiked? Meeting Ah Beng only right? Why need to look so handsome for?”
“Bo la, simple wax only…”
“Never mind. Don’t waste time.” Cheryl tapped her manicured nails against her laminate desk, her voice dropping into that quiet, terrifying tone that meant business. “Check-in protocol first. Open your drawer.”
My stomach did a quiet gymnastics routine. “Cheryl, cannot skip today ah? Bus really coming—”
“Darling. Don’t make me repeat.” She tilted her head, giving me the look. “You know the rule. If you leave house with full tank, your mind will wander. Later walk on the street see all those Bugis girls in crop tops, your eyes start flying everywhere. I need you focused. Clear your head first.”
She was talking about the “bullets.”
It started three months ago when she read some toxic Instagram post about how men with “too much pent-up energy” were more likely to micro-cheat. Ever since then, before any outing with “the boys,” Cheryl insisted on a mandatory video inspection to ensure my “magazine was empty.”
“Cheryl, I’m twenty-four, not a security guard clearing arms room,” I pleaded in a whisper, panicking that my mother might walk past my bedroom door. “My mom in the kitchen frying fish, you know!”
“Then don’t make noise lo,” Cheryl said serenely, taking a delicate sip of her Koi bubble tea. “Screen share or angle the camera to the ceiling. You have five minutes. If you miss this, don’t bother going to Bugis. Come straight to CBD to carry my shopping bags.”
Sigh. Siam diu couldn’t hold a candle to the military precision of a Singaporean girlfriend who suspected you were up to no good.
I locked my bedroom door quietly, slid the latch into place, and angled the phone toward the ceiling fan.
“Start,” Cheryl commanded through the speaker, her voice sounding like a drill sergeant ordering a pre-departure equipment check. “And don’t rush. Make sure it’s done properly. I want full confirmation.”
“Can you mute your mic at least? I hear your office keyboard clicking very weird, you know!”
“Cannot. What if you fake it? Go.”
I closed my eyes, staring intently at the white ceiling fan spinning in circles. Focus, Aaron. Think of Bugis… no, don’t think of Bugis girls! Think of Valorant. Think of the bus captain.
Two minutes of absolute, soul-crushing awkwardly silent effort later, I gasped, my shoulders slumping against the edge of the mattress.
“Done or not?” Cheryl’s voice popped out from the speaker, crisp and entirely unbothered.
“Done…” I panted, wiping my brow. “Can I go now?”
“Show me the tissue.”
I picked up the balled-up tissue, held it briefly in front of the camera lens like an recruit presenting his rifle chamber for safety inspection, and threw it straight into the bin.
“Good boy,” Cheryl smiled, her tone instantly flipping back to sweet, loving girlfriend mode. “Clear head already right? Now go play your computer game. Don’t drink sweet water, remember to order zero percent sugar. And send me location live tracking when you reach MRT, okay?”
“Okay, darling. Love you.”
“Love you too! Bye-bye!”
The call disconnected. I sat on the edge of my bed in silence for ten seconds, the cold air-con breeze chilling my damp forehead.
I picked up my bag, unlocked the door, and walked out. My mother looked up from her wok. “Ah Aaron, why your face so red? Never wear jacket?”
“Nothing, Ma,” I sighed, sliding on my sneakers at the doorway. “Just clearing ammo before operation.”