Chapter 7 - JB or Jail Break?
Chapter 7: JB or Jail Break?
“Okay, listen up,” Ivan said, pulling out a folded piece of A4 paper from his pocket like it was a classified document. “I’ve got the entire itinerary here. Bus timing, hotel check-in, makan spots, even the backup makan spots.”
“I love how you think we’re actually going to follow this,” Crystal deadpanned, sipping from her reusable water bottle.
It had been five days since their last exam. ABIX was still running on minimal sleep and maximal euphoria. To celebrate surviving another semester—Aleem in Computer Engineering, Ivan in Mechanical Engineering, Isabelle in Chemistry, and Crystal in Linguistics—they decided to take a short, budget-friendly getaway across the causeway.
“JB, here we come!” Crystal had declared with a dramatic fist in the air.
Phase 1: Crossing the Causeway
The trip started off strong.
As in, strongly cursed.
Aleem, who prided himself on punctuality, somehow forgot his passport.
“You’re joking,” Isabelle said as the three of them stood outside the bus terminal while Aleem patted every pocket in increasing desperation.
“I swear I packed it last night—”
“You packed a library card,” Ivan said, holding up the laminated evidence.
“Same size what.”
They rescheduled to a later bus. Crisis #1 survived.
By the time they finally crossed immigration—Crystal nearly losing her bag to a random uncle who thought it was his—the four of them arrived at JB Sentral sticky, sweaty, and hungry.
“First stop,” Ivan said, checking his itinerary, “Kam Long Fish Head Curry.”
The line wrapped around the block.
“Nope,” Crystal said immediately, heading in the opposite direction. “Let’s go find lok lok.”
Phase 2: Food, Fights & Fake Durian
They settled at a lok lok stall with plastic stools and neon lights so bright it felt like eating inside a YouTube thumbnail. The vibes were immaculate. The food? Questionably oily—but in a worth it kind of way.
Midway through Isabelle trying grilled tau pok for the first time, she suddenly frowned. “Guys… is this durian?”
Ivan paused mid-bite. “No, it’s just fried banana—oh. Oh no.”
“Belle’s allergic!” Crystal cried.
Isabelle started fanning her face. “I think it’s fine—I didn’t swallow much—”
Aleem threw his drink at her. “Rinse! Now!”
Panic mode initiated. Water, tissue, and panic flooded the table. Fortunately, Isabelle’s allergy was mild, and the team handled it like the chaotic professionals they were.
“I’m okay,” she said, still coughing slightly.
Ivan, pale with guilt, muttered, “Okay, no more mystery skewers.”
Crystal patted Isabelle’s back. “That’s it. I’m sticking to fishballs and vibes.”
Phase 3: The Alleyway Surprise
Later that night, they wandered the quiet, lamp-lit alleys near Tan Hiok Nee Heritage Street. The air had cooled, the streets calmer, and something about being away from Singapore’s rush made everything feel slightly dreamlike.
They passed a pop-up night market, with stalls selling beaded accessories, retro posters, secondhand clothes, and vinyl records.
Aleem wandered off a little, drawn by an old man spinning vinyls on a turntable. The music was mellow—Malay jazz, maybe. He closed his eyes for a second, just soaking in the moment.
Then—
“Nice taste,” a voice said beside him. Female, smooth, local accent.
He turned. A girl in her early twenties, short black hair tucked under a beret, stood beside him, holding a kopi in one hand and a cat-shaped tote bag in the other. Her smile was easy. Unbothered.
“Didn’t expect to hear P. Ramlee meets bossa nova in an alleyway.”
Aleem blinked. “Yeah… it’s surreal.”
“You visiting?”
“Singaporean. Short trip.”
“Same,” she grinned. “Name’s Hana.”
“Aleem.”
She nodded toward the record stall. “You like music?”
He chuckled. “I survive uni with it.”
They talked for a while. Nothing deep. Just shared amusement over overpriced thrift stores, the dangerous magic of kaya toast at midnight, and the strange charm of Johor’s back alleys. There was no spark. No flirting. But there was… a moment. Something soft and unspoken.
“Your friends are looking,” Hana said, gesturing behind him.
Aleem turned—Crystal was waving dramatically, mouthing, WOOOAH WHO THAT?
“Better go,” he muttered.
“Take care, Aleem.”
“You too, Hana.”
She disappeared into the night. No exchange of numbers. No social media. Just a footnote in an unexpected chapter.
Phase 4: Hotel… Horror?
They finally reached their budget hotel around midnight. Aleem unlocked the door to their room—
—and found a half-eaten curry puff on the bed.
“Why does this place smell like my grandmother’s fridge?” Ivan muttered.
“I don’t think this aircon works,” Crystal said, fanning herself with the room key.
“Oh my god,” Isabelle gasped. “There’s a lizard in the toilet.”
They stared at it for a full minute. Then Aleem saluted it. “He stays. Rent-free.”
Despite everything—the missed bus, the allergic scare, the random vinyl girl, the suspicious hotel—the trip was perfect in the most ABIX way possible.
Not because everything went well.
But because nothing did.
And yet… they laughed, they supported, they made memes out of misfortune.
That night, four friends huddled on two springy beds under a weak ceiling fan, trading jokes and memories until sleep stole them away.
And Aleem?
He stared at the ceiling a little longer.
Not because of Hana.
But because—just for a moment—he realised that beyond exams, projects, and badminton courts… life was starting to open its own doors.
And he was ready to walk through them.