"Why didn't he kill us?" Aman muttered, his voice almost lost in the gentle rustle of the trees overhead. "He was alone. No soldiers behind him. Just him."
Mei Lian didn't answer at first. She stared at the dirt road ahead, brows slightly furrowed.
"That was the same guy from the photo, right?" she finally said. "Kodoha something? The writing on that picture"
Aman nodded slowly. "Yeah… same one we saw in Jitra. He just looked at us and walked away. Like we weren't even worth his time. After everything he did he just leaves us?"
He paused, his voice tightening. "That devil burned my village to the ground… his men ,they raped my…" He caught himself and looked away. "Never mind."
The silence between them grew thick, heavier with each step they took down the narrow dirt path. There was no answer to what had just happened. That man had stood there in front of them, alone. No weapons drawn. No commands shouted. No execution orders. Just a glance. Then he vanished into the jungle.
"Maybe he's not the devil we thought," Mei Lian murmured.
"Or maybe he's worse," Aman said, his tone cold. "Devils at least act with purpose. He looked at us like… like we didn't matter. Like the lives he ruined weren't even worth remembering."
Aman's hand went instinctively to the revolver at his side, a snub-nosed Henry pistol. Empty now. Every last bullet had been used on the deserters. He tried to recall the exact moment, the reason, the rage. But the memory came back only in shards. Heat. Screaming. Blood. And his own finger pulling the trigger again and again.
"Hey… do you still think I'm a monster for killing them?" he asked suddenly.
Mei Lian blinked, surprised. "Thinking back… I killed Carter too." She looked straight into Aman's eyes. "You don't see me differently, do you? At least now we're even."
Aman held her gaze. "We're even," he said quietly. "We're both murderers."
They said it together, like a confession.
.....
The road south was long and silent. Birds chirped occasionally in the distance. The sound of the wind brushing through the leaves was the only other constant. It was peaceful, in a way. But it felt wrong.
They both wanted to see that Japanese officer again. Kodoha. Not because they admired him, but because they couldn't understand him.
He didn't look like a soldier. He looked more like a schoolteacher or a quiet librarian with his round glasses and mild expression. There was something odd about him. Calculated, yes. Cold, definitely. But he hadn't pulled the trigger.
"Do you think he let us go on purpose?" Aman asked.
"Maybe," Mei Lian replied. "Or maybe we were never important enough to kill."
...
Later that afternoon, Aman looked again at his empty pistol. Without bullets, it was useless. Still, he raised it and pointed into the trees, mimicking an aim.
"You idiot," Mei Lian scoffed. "Trying to prove something? You've got no bullets left."
"Yeah," Aman said, cracking a weak grin. "I'm an idiot. Like you."
"At least I'm not the one pointing an empty gun at the jungle," she shot back.
"Fair enough." He sighed. "I guess I just wanted to feel in control again. Just for a second."
...
They found a mango tree shortly after, and Aman climbed it despite his lingering injuries. Mei Lian protested, yelling up at him.
"You're still hurt! If you fall, I'm not bandaging that leg again!"
"Relax, I'm not gonna fall!" Aman called back.
He didn't. And soon, they were sharing mangoes under the shade.
...
"You know," Aman said, licking juice from his fingers, "that Japanese guy, he spoke damn good Malay."
"Yeah, I noticed that too. You kind of have to, if you're going to invade a place." She shrugged. "I guess I'm technically an immigrant too. My home country's a mess. Civil war. Warlords. We were killing each other before any foreigners even showed up."
"You mean the Japs came after that?"
"Yeah. The warlords stopped fighting when they realized the Japanese wouldn't share power. Foreigners don't like sharing."
"Neither do warlords," Aman said dryly.
"True."
They fell into silence again. Both of them were tired more emotionally than physically. Since Jitra, it had been a blur of violence, fire, betrayal, and survival. Kampar had only made things worse. And now they were heading to Slim River, not sure what waited there.
Aman had started cycling again. Mei Lian rode in the cart attached to the back.
"You know what's weird?" Aman said as he pedaled slowly along the dusty trail. "We've been together all this time since Jitra. But we don't really know each other."
Mei Lian tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, we trust each other. We rely on each other. But I don't really know who you are. And you don't know me."
She didn't answer immediately. Her face was unreadable.
"Is that really important now?" she asked finally.
"Nope," Aman said, without hesitation.
"Good."
They both chuckled softly. It wasn't exactly laughter. Just a brief moment of relief.
"We'll reach Slim River tomorrow," Mei Lian said. "There should be British troops there."
"If they're still holding the line."
"After Kampar? Probably not. Malaya's finished. Everyone knows it."
Aman went quiet for a moment. "I doubt Singapore is safe either."
"You got people there?"
"Yeah. My younger siblings." He exhaled sharply. "God… I think I forgot about them for a while."
"We all forgot something," Mei Lian said.
"Let's just keep going."
"Yeah."
...
By nightfall, they found a small abandoned shack in the jungle. They lit a tiny fire, careful not to draw attention. Aman cleaned and checked his empty pistol again, as if by habit.
"I used to want to be a teacher," he said suddenly.
Mei Lian looked up, surprised. "Really?"
"Yeah. Back before the war. Before all this. I liked books. I liked talking. Thought maybe I could help kids… help them grow up better than we did."
"Would've suited you," she said quietly.
"What about you?" he asked.
"Me?" She hesitated. "I wanted to be a nurse. Maybe work in a hospital. Something quiet, something that helps."
Aman smiled faintly. "Well, you did patch me up more than once."
"Yeah. Guess I got my wish… just not how I imagined it."
...
They talked for hours. About childhood. About family. About regrets.
Mei Lian spoke of her mother, who died in a bombing. Her brother, who joined a warlord's army and never came back. Aman spoke of his father's barbershop, of his sisters' laughter, of the day everything burned.
They found comfort in the stories, even if they were painful. They found pieces of themselves in each other. Broken pieces, but pieces nonetheless.
The next morning, Aman stretched, feeling the weight of healing wounds and exhausted muscles. Mei Lian stood near the edge of the shack, looking at the rising sun.
"You think we'll make it to Singapore?" Aman asked.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "But I know we'll keep moving."
Aman nodded. "Yeah. That's enough."
As they set off again, the road ahead was uncertain. But for the first time in weeks, the silence between them wasn't empty. It was full of pain, of memory, of unspoken understanding.
They were no longer just survivors. They were each other's witness.
And somehow, that was enough to keep going.