Chapter 22 - New Routines, Old Rhythms

Chapter 22: New Routines, Old Rhythms

There was no formal agreement.

No annual schedule, no contract to renew the friendship.

And yet, ABIX kept showing up.

Not always together. Not always on time. But enough.

Sundays Were for Calls

It started by accident. A spontaneous voice call between Isabelle and Crystal—Crystal was in line for ayam geprek; Isabelle was folding laundry in Melbourne.

Ten minutes became thirty.

Then Ivan joined from his dorm in Munich, complaining about his washing machine holding his socks hostage.

Aleem popped in last, mid-walk from a 7-Eleven run in Penang, the wind messing with his mic.

They laughed more than they talked that day. Nothing deep. Nothing planned.

And when it ended, Crystal said: “Same time next week?”

That was how it began.

One Sunday became a ritual.

Even if one or two couldn’t make it, the rest still dialled in. Sometimes with breakfast. Sometimes with tears. Sometimes just for background noise while cooking or scrolling or pretending to fold laundry.

The Playlist

Ivan, in a rare stroke of sentimentality, created a collaborative Spotify playlist.

ABIX // Eternal Shuffle

Each member added songs. No rules. No judgement.

Isabelle’s songs were soft and wordy. Lyrics she clung to in the silence of study nights.

Crystal added chaotic energy—K-pop, old Disney soundtracks, Indonesian pop ballads she swore weren’t sad.

Ivan contributed lo-fi beats and oddly niche German rap.

Aleem, methodical as ever, dropped in instrumental tracks. Piano pieces. Jazz guitar. Once, just for laughs, he added a remix of the NTU theme song.

The playlist grew like a scrapbook—strange, mismatched, alive.

And whenever one of them missed home, or felt too far from what used to be, they hit shuffle.

Postcards from Elsewhere

It was Isabelle’s idea.

She sent the first one from Melbourne—a hand-painted skyline of the Yarra River. On the back, her writing small and neat:

Dear ABIX, I made friends with a café barista because he always plays IU. Sometimes I pretend I’m still sitting with you guys at North Spine. Love, Belle.

That opened the floodgates.

Crystal sent one from Jakarta, a chaotic drawing of her office desk and a rant about her new intern named Indra who somehow broke the copier and the pantry microwave in the same day.

Ivan mailed his from Germany. A simple postcard with a photo of the Alps. All he wrote was:

It’s cold. My heart is colder. Miss you guys.

Aleem’s came last.

A photo of a Penang street mural. On the back:

Haven’t found better fried kway teow than the one near Hall 3. Challenge me.

They each kept the postcards like bookmarks in notebooks, or pinned to walls. Small things, but tangible. Proof.

They were still real.

Still them.

Not Always Perfect

There were weeks they didn’t talk.

Sometimes one of them went quiet. Burnt out. Overwhelmed. Or just tired.

Isabelle once skipped three Sunday calls in a row. When she came back, she said simply, “Sorry. I needed to hide.”

Crystal said, “Same. Last month.”

Ivan said, “Hide as long as you want. Just don’t uninstall Telegram.”

Aleem didn’t say anything. He just sent a photo of four dumplings on a plate. Caption: ABIX-sized portion. Missing the rest.

It was never perfect.

But it was honest.

A Return on the Horizon

One late night, Crystal brought it up.

“Next year,” she said, “I’ll be back in Singapore. Just for two weeks.”

A beat.

“I think… we should meet. All of us. Properly.”

Isabelle replied first. “I’ll come back.”

Ivan added: “Same. I’ll fly in.”

Aleem waited a moment, then wrote:

Aleem: ABIX Day. Let’s make it real.

It wasn’t official.

But it was happening.

And somewhere, across three countries and four time zones, four hearts leaned just a little closer.