Chapter 1

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She was no stranger to Death.

At the tender age of five, she lost her parents when they were doing their umrah in a sickening stampede. She was too young to understand back then, and too young to fully grasp the concept of loss. All the same, at five years old, she had felt a curious emptiness in her life, although she wasn't sad per se. When she lost her parents, her grandparents - from both sides - had took care of him and her younger sister, who was only two years old at the time. There were no uncles and aunts, as both her mother and her father were the only children. Her grandparents were kind, but time wasn't on their side.

When she was nine and her sister six, her grandfather on her mother's side fell to will of God, and eight months later her grandmother followed. Then two years later, in what she felt was the most profound pain and loss she had ever felt, her younger sister was killed when a bus didn't stop at a zebra crossing in front of her school. Her sister, only fifteen at the time, was her best friend and closest confidant. She was barely out of school when it happened, and she had been working as a dishwasher in a fancy restaurant in Kuala Lumpur when her boss called him into the office and broke the news. She remembered not crying - she just felt a strong, piercing pain in her chest. But she had gone back, had taken care of the heart-breakingly mangled remains of her sister, and had went home to her paternal grandparents, and only then did she break down and cry.

A few years after that tragedy, grandmother suffered a fatal stroke... and a couple of years after that, her grandfather succumbed to cancer. Alone, with only a few close friends around her, she decided to just soldier on. To get over her losses she had worked like a demon - she had foregone tertiary education, despite above-average but not quite stellar results in school - simply because her grandparents couldn't afford it at the time, and she did not want to be any more of a burden to anyone, ever. So she worked. She worked at the restaurant like a demon, gradually moving up the ranks. First she had washed dishes... a few months after that she began doing prep work. Soon, she was allowed to help with the cooking in the restaurant, and over time she got better and better.

Now, twelve years after her sister died, she was a full-blown chef carrying the rank of sous chef in this restaurant. She was gritty, determined and had a fierce temper - all traits inherited from her boss, who still ran the place as chef de cuisine and co-owner. In those twelve years of working her ass off, she barely thought about death. Besides, she felt that there was no one close enough anymore to her for her to feel that sudden, almost audible pang of loss. Furthermore, she was too busy. So busy in fact, her circle of friends had been whittled down to only a few, and most of them were working at the same restaurant.

Tonight, the co-owner of the restaurant (and her boss' partner) - a Dato' whose other job was the CEO of a company that serviced oil and gas companies - announced that her boss, her mentor, Chef Adam Amirulkhair of Restaurant Luna, was killed in a car accident on the way to work. He had been 37 years old, a mere seven years older than her. The rest of the kitchen crew had abruptly stopped their tasks; some hung their head in silence, others murmured prayers. She looked around and let them have their two minutes of silence. Even the Dato' - Khairul or Khairuddin, if she remembered correctly - had his head bowed down and seemed to say prayers.

Once she felt they had done enough, all she said was, "Alright. Chef Adam won't be here anymore. But it's a full house outside.Kitchen: standby for service."

The rest of the kitchen seemed a bit stunned for a few seconds but there was something in her eyes that made them immediately resume their work. The Dato' came up to her.

"Farah," he said, his voice careful. "Are you sure? We can close the restaurant, offer the patrons something..."

"I'm sure," she said as she wiped down the pass and strung up her hair in a ponytail that seemed so tight, the veins in her forehead looked like they were going to pop.

"You don't have to continue..." the Dato' continued. But she held a hand up.

"With all due respect, Dato', we cannot disappoint our guests tonight. Some of them had made reservations months earlier. There's a wedding proposal happening tonight. So, yes. I do have to continue. With or without Chef Adam, innalilliah."

The Dato' studied her, as if looking for a wee hint of weakness.

"I'm sure if he was here," she said, "He would want us to go ahead. We're the best restaurant in Kuala Lumpur. We have a duty to our guests. And we have to honor Chef Adam's legacy."

"I know he meant a lot to you," the Dato' said and reached for her shoulder. "And I appreciate this. If you need anything, let me know."

He left the kitchen, and Farah continued prepping her station.

Yes, she was no stranger to Death. But with the rest of the kitchen crew starting to busy themselves again, Farah allowed one teardrop to fall from her eyes.

***

Service ended late than usual that night. The last table checked out close to midnight, and the maitre'd, Luqman, had grumbled to Farah about it being a long night. Farah ignored him. She ordered her six cooks - all of them immigrants (some with dubious legal status) - to start cleaning down while she wanted to check inventory. Now that Chef Adam wasn't around, it'd be even more important that she take stock of everything, and to prepare for the next round of deliveries. She'd been doing it for the past year or so anyway, and she didn't mind. Just that... Chef Adam was normally the one who'd sign off on purchases, inventory and other documentation that a restaurant needed. She wondered if she had the authority to okay all those invoices, purchase requests and receipts. She had handled them, sure, but again, it was Chef Adam that gave the final ok.

She stepped out into the back alleyway of the kitchen. It was midnight, and the alleyway was alive with the sound of kitchen porters taking out rubbish and cleaning the various restaurant kitchens that call Jalan Telawi 3 home. Farah took a deep breath, not minding the dank odors of the alley, and stretched out her limbs and neck. It was smooth tonight, the service; busy as fuck, but smooth and well organized. Her kitchen crew didn't commit any major fuck-ups, service hadn't been backed up, and generally everyone seemed in tune with another. Even the floor staff, whose names Farah didn't bother remembering on the account that most of them were part-timers and hotel students who rarely worked more than 6 months at the place, were pleasantly efficient. All of those part-timers and students did well to not piss her off during service; when Chef Adam was around, he was stern but very careful with his words. Farah bore no such reservations. If a waiter needed to be told fuck off, she would say it, loudly and proudly. It was one of the reasons she had become sous chef: she had the guts and the balls to play game.

Farah lit a cigarette, and crushed a tiny capsule that released a mint and blueberry flavor as she inhaled. Smoking was one of her vices; drinking was the other. She took another long drag on the cigarette and allowed the smoke to fill her lungs.

Just then the kitchen door opened, and the Dato' walked out. He lit his own cigarette.

"I knew I'd find you here," he said. Farah was sitting on top of a plastic stool. She pushed another towards the Dato', who obliged. The Dato' was dressed in one of those god awful Hackett polo shirts, slacks and shiny brown leather loafers. On one hand was a heavy stainless steel bracelet.

Farah kept quiet. She was about to crush her cigarette when the Dato' called to her.

"We're closing, tomorrow. No big deal, it's Sunday anyway. Only one reservation," the Dato' said. Farah nodded, not saying anything. She wasn't being rude, but the truth was she knew what the Dato' was going to say and didn't relish hearing it.

"Are you alright? Are you okay?" Dato' asked.

Again, Farah nodded. The Dato' continued.

"Adam was my friend, too, you know. We weren't just 'partners'. And now that he's gone... well, I'm short of one executive chef. And a partner. I wouldn't dream of replacing him with someone else... except for you."

Farah looked at him in surprise. She had expected to be offered the executive chef position; call her heartless, but the moment she heard Chef Adam was gone, a thought flashed inside her head. A thought that said only one person deserved to take over that position, and to continue what Chef Adam had worked so hard on. But she never dreamed the Dato' would offer her partnership, not least in such a casual manner.

Sensing her slight surprise, the Dato' said, "I sense your hesitance, and you might even feel the circumstances are inappropriate. But Adam believed in you and spoke very highly of you. Above all, he trusted you. More than he trusts me, in fact," the Dato' scoffed, albeit in a sad and reminiscing manner.

"But," Farah finally said. "I don't have the money to buy over his share. I'd gladly take over his... as Executive Chef, I mean. But to be partners, with you, Dato'? I don't think I can. It's not something I can just say yes to here and now either, so I respectfully decline."

The Dato' mulled this over. Finally he said, "You're right. Never mind the issue, for now. As for Executive Chef, it's yours. I'll make the offer in writing and notify our HR lady. But, if it's okay with you, I want to wait at least a couple of weeks before I make it official. Out of respect to Adam."

The Dato' got off his stool and started back inside. He put a hand on Farah's shoulders. "I was informed by his family that the funeral would be tomorrow. Would you like to come?"

Farah took a deep breath. "I'll be there," she said.

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