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| Image credits: ChatGPT |
Every Saturday morning without fail, Adeline and her parents would take their usual spot at Ah Seng Coffeeshop, the kind of old-school place where the ceiling fans hum louder than the traffic outside and the kaya toast is still spread by hand.
They were a noisy bunch — the kind that made the next table chuckle just by overhearing them. Her father, Uncle Raymond, had his half-boiled eggs mastered to an art; her mother, Auntie May, sipped her kopi C with the regal grace of a coffee connoisseur; and Adeline, ever the modern millennial, scrolled her phone between bites of toast.
It was all routine — until they noticed him.
A man, about fifty, looking like he had jogged off a midlife crisis and come out the other side rather well. Always in neatly pressed shirts, a wristwatch that caught the morning sun, and an easy calm about him. He’d sit two tables away, always alone, always with the same breakfast: kaya toast, kopi-O, two eggs — just like them.
But more than once, Adeline caught him glancing her way. Not the creepy kind, but… the curious kind.
“Mummy,” she whispered one morning, stirring her egg with exaggerated nonchalance. “That uncle keep looking at me again.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow, half amused. “Aiyoh, maybe he thinks you look like his niece lah.”
Her father, ever the joker, leaned in. “Or maybe he’s thinking to upgrade to a younger model!”
“Mum! Dad!” Adeline rolled her eyes, though she was laughing too.
“Eh, can lah,” her father teased. “Nowadays age gap no problem one. Maybe he’s rich, you marry him, can retire your old man early!”
“Please,” Adeline said, pretending to gag. “He’s, what, fifty? That’s like dating a secondary school principal.”
“Don’t underestimate uncles,” her mother chimed in, tapping her spoon on the saucer. “Uncles got stability, maturity, CPF, and no more drama.”
“But also backache, cholesterol, and early bedtime,” Adeline fired back. “I want someone who can go for late-night movies, not someone who falls asleep after Channel 8 News.”
Their laughter filled the coffeeshop, even Ah Seng behind the counter cracked a grin.
Weeks passed, and the mysterious uncle kept showing up. Always the same glance, the same quiet smile if their eyes met. Then one Saturday, he finally approached their table, holding his cup of kopi like a peace offering.
“Excuse me,” he said politely. “Sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I just wanted to ask — are you by any chance Adeline Tan?”
Adeline blinked. “Uh… yes?”
He smiled wider. “I thought so. I’m Mr. Lim. My son — Caleb — is studying in Melbourne. He told me to look out for you. You were his group mate during his internship, right?”
“Oh! Caleb Lim?” Adeline’s face lit up. “Yes! We worked together last year!”
Her parents exchanged looks, and Adeline suddenly realised what had just happened.
Mr. Lim chuckled. “He keeps telling me, ‘Pa, if you see Adeline, say hello for me.’ But every time I see you here, I don’t want to be abrupt. Later you think I’m some weird uncle.”
Her father nearly choked on his kopi. “We did think that, actually!”
Her mother burst out laughing. “We even discussed whether you were trying to hit on our daughter!”
Mr. Lim laughed too, shaking his head. “Aiyo, no lah. I already married for twenty-five years. My wife would hit me if she hears that.”
They all laughed till their sides hurt.
And that’s how, over kaya toast and eggs, Adeline learned that sometimes life’s funniest misunderstandings start with a glance and end with a good story.
Two months later, when Caleb flew home from Melbourne, the Tans and the Lims all met again — same coffeeshop, same table, same laughter.
This time, though, it was Caleb who kept stealing glances.
And Adeline? She pretended not to notice… but her parents definitely did.
