Three minutes

The 9:40 train left Arau on time. At Ipoh it stopped for two minutes. Pathy jumped down, took a photo of the old white station and jumped back as the doors closed. Eleven capitals!

Then, near Tapah, the train stopped for fifty minutes. Every minute was crucial now. One minute could decide the whole bet.

They reached KL Sentral at 4:12 p.m. Philip looked at his watch. He was not angry. He was resigned, like someone who accepts bad news because he cannot change it.

"Seventy-two minutes late," he said. "I concede. Fiza, you win the wager."

Fiza stared at him. "Late? What are you talking about?"

"My clock started at the school gate. Friday, seven o'clock."

"But that's not the rule!" She held up her photo of the board. "Rule three: the eighty hours begin with the first photo. Shah Alam, nine o'clock. You have until five!"

Pathy did the sum and gave a loud gasp. "Forty-eight minutes!"

They ran. Down to the LRT, three stops, then a final sprint up the hill, as fast as their legs could go.

At 4:57, Philip stepped through the school gate. The whole class was there. Even the most doubtful students were astonished; they could not believe their eyes. Then everyone was ecstatic, shouting and jumping.

A message arrived from Aida: Tok says thank you again. Did you win?

Philip looked at his watch. "Three minutes early," he said. "I don't like being early." But he was smiling.