Salt in the sugar

Hana called her friend Arjun, who had a motorbike. They set off for the museum, but they never got there. At a traffic light in Brickfields, Hana noticed a crowd outside a mamak stall. The owner was exasperated, waving his arms and shouting about sugar.

"Someone put salt in all my sugar bowls!" he said. "Twenty customers have complained about their teh tarik!"

"Who was here?" Hana asked.

The owner thought. Two men had eaten breakfast there an hour ago: a short, polite one in glasses and a very tall one with a beard. The tall one had seemed flustered and kept checking the time. When they left, the short man knocked his glass of milk tea against the wall. He said sorry and paid ten ringgit for the mess.

Hana looked at the brown mark on the wall. It was an anomaly, something that did not fit. But salt in the sugar seemed incongruous with the gentle, unassuming man who had chosen books for her since Year 7.

"The tall one did the salt," said Arjun. "If he really is an impostor, maybe he thinks it's funny."

Hana was not so sure. She had a hunch that the salt and the spilled drink were connected. The owner also remembered that the two men had walked off towards Petaling Street, which was not the way to the museum at all.

"What a haphazard route," said Arjun, starting the bike.

"Or a very careful one," said Hana.