Hazrin, born Azrina, was born a boy and was genetically a boy. Then his mother registered him as a baby girl. When he was 2, his mother sent him away to live with his aunt, deep inside the vineyards of France. Without knowing anything, he lived almost twenty years of his life as a girl. Now he has returned home, to his home country, and decided to care for his little brother and sisters, as a man.
Can he untrain himself of all feminine gestures and become a real man?
Enter Iskandar, the nephew of one of the wealthiest tycoons in Southeast Asia. He had a plan, of becoming independent from his uncle, but that would cause him to betray the only one he holds dear. Will he sacrifice all for Azrina's love? Or will he sacrifice Azrina instead?
Then comes Max, a german man from an impoverished noble household. For the past fifteen years, Rina Sofiana de Havensall, has always been in his mind. Now that he had fulfilled his promise, he came to find Rina, to ask her to honour her part of the promise.
"Lila please, we can work this out. I'm the head of the family now. I can take care of you and our daughter," Zul pleaded.
"It's too late, I'm too dirty to be near your noble self now. You will never see me or my daughter ever."
"Goodbye, Zul," she said as she hung up.
Nurdarlila Binti Abdul Rahman snickered once she hung up. She was at this moment sipping tea about 5,000 kilometres away from Bukit Damansara, where Dato' Zulkifli currently was. Her sister Nursarahina, who was sitting in front putting creamer into her own coffee stared confused.
"What's so funny?" her sister asked.
"I'd love to see him searching frantically at every international airports. Oh well," she grinned.
"If you want to go back, I can arrange it," Sarah said.
"No need," Lila grinned, "Let him stew forever. More fun that way."
The ringing jarred Iskandar awake. He sleepily looked at the table clock next to his bed and cursed. It was only three in the morning afterall.
"Hello?" Iskandar said into the phone.
"Boss, Bernie here," came a voice from the other side.
"Bernie..." it took Iskandar a few seconds to register the name.
"Do you realise it's three in the morning?" Iskandar said to Bernie, aka Karanathan, his private investigator.
"No choice, boss. Listen boss, be careful of the girl. She's not normal," Nathan said with a little bit of apprehension.
"The girl?" Iskandar asked, wide awake now.
"I may have underestimated them, boss. I'm pretty much trapped now. Be careful, boss, she's there. Please tell my wife and kids that I love them, boss. Need to go-" Nathan said before the line suddenly ended.
"Bernie! Bernie!" Iskandar said to the dead tone.
"Hey there, miss," greeted the man in black-and-peach striped shirt.
"Oh hello there, Mr. Aiman. What can I get you today?" Hazrin asked as he smiled.
"How about that phone number?" Aiman said without looking up at Hazrin.
Puzzled, Hazrin said, "We do include our contact number at your receipts in cases where you'd like to make reservations or make your orders ahead of time on your next visit, sir."
"Oh, not that. I meant your phone number, miss," Aiman finally looked up at Hazrin showing his most dazzling smile.
Hazrin giggled girlishly, his face starting to redden. "But sir, you made a mistake surely. I'm a guy, you got me all wrong."
Aiman gently took Hazrin's right hand, folded over a little notebook in front Hazrin's flat tummy, into his hands, "A beautiful young lady like you shouldn't say that, miss. Your beauty mesmerizes me everytime I see you walking by. Please tell me your name, your real name, my dear lady," he said as he smoothly kissed the back of Hazrin's hand.
By this time, Hazrin's face had gone redder than a lobster, and he said, "I'll come later to take your orders, sirs," before bolting from the scene. He probably said it a bit too loud too, because the other patrons of the restaurant turned to see the tomboyish new waitress running into the supply closet blushing red. Eric, the boss-bartender simply shook his head.
"Overkill, man," one of the man sitting with Aiman at the same table, a sophisticated-looking glasses guy commented.
"She's just shy, Lan. I'll give her a week," Aiman countered.
Hafiz grumbled. "I need to start making a list of the restaurants I've been banned from because of you, Aiman," he said pointedly.
Bernie aka S. Karanathan jerked awake as a bucket of water was splashed at his face. As he started to come around, out of the darkness of the room, a very bright spotlight shone directly at his face. His eyes lost focus instantly. He tried to shield his eyes, but his arms won't move, and he realized that he was tied to a chair.
"Typical," he mumbled.
Out of the darkness behind him, someone grabbed his hair and wrenched it backward roughly. Another man came out of the darkness, stood between him and the spotlight. Without warning, the man gave him a punch in the face, hard, causing his face to point at the wall to his right. The man let Nathan move his head to face his tormentor before punching his face again, this time with the man's left fist. Nathan noted that the man's left strength wasn't as great as the right, but it still hurt like hell. His whole body still hurt like hell from the beatings he received from what looked like peasants carrying pitchforks earlier.
"How long have I been here? Did Iskandar heed my warning? Is my family alright? Nathan thought as another punch hit him in the jaw.
"Qui vous a envoyé? (Who sent you?)" the man said as he punched Nathan's stomache twice.
"Ouff! I don't speak french," he said to the man beating his stomache.
"Qui vous a envoyé? (Who sent you?)" the man asked while punching him in the stomache again.
"I've told you, I don't speak french," Nathan said as he slumped forward.
The man punched him in the stomache again, before going out of the room with the man holding his hair.
"Interrogation should be about asking questions first before beating victims up. Not the other way around. They must've learned the craft from the russians," Nathan mumbled to the empty room.
"Bukit Aman Police Headquarters, how can I serve you?" came a voice from the phone. It was a gentle, female voice.
Iskandar knew enough however, that in Bukit Aman, everyone can kill. Even the receptionists are well-versed in silat* and handguns. If James Born was a malaysian, he'd either be in Bukit Aman or military intelligence. Bukit Aman has a restriction on indiscriminate killing, but the military intelligence can do whatever they want. Bukit Aman generally deals with internal intelligence, military intelligence generally deal with everything else.
"Hello, may I speak to Assistant Commisioner Ahmad Bilal Ahmad Hussein?" Iskandar said into the phone. He had wondered what to do about Nathan then he remembered that Nathan once gave him a number to call in case of emergencies, and a code. He had to go to the mamak restaurant under Nathan's place to make the call with his cellphone. at 8 in the morning.
"May I know who's speaking, please?" the voice said again.
"Restoran Ali Mamak here. The assistant commissioner booked a table with us for tonight and ordered our daily special, the Mas Bernielicious, but we're having problems with providing his food orders. Would like his request on alternatives," Iskandar said in codes, believing that the policewoman on the other end already had his call recorded and his location traced.
"The assistant commissioner is in a meeting at the moment, sir. I will pass on the message as soon as possible. Is this your phone number, sir?" the policewoman asked before repeating the number.
"Yes, that's my number," Iskandar answered. Unlike the other localized police stations, Bukit Aman Police Headquarters does its jobs very efficiently. When the policewoman said 'as soon as possible', there was a big chance that the message had already reached the assistant commissioner, meeting or not.
"Thank you, sir. Have a good day," the policewoman hung up.
Iskandar sighed. He opened up his handphone's casing, took out the battery, then took out the simcard. He then took a clean handkerchief and wiped clean every single surface of the tiny simcard. Then he put back his own simcard into the phone's slot before replacing the battery and cover. He deleted all records of the past 20 minutes from his phone and broke the tiny simcard into two pieces. He got out of his car, that was parked right in front of Restoran Ali Mamak and dropped the broken simcard into two separate trashcans.
He knew that Bukit Aman already had every single piece of details about him when he called, as in Malaysia, every purchase of pre-paid simcards were required by law to be registered. If shit came his way though, he'd just say his phone was stolen.
★Hey all, thanks for reading again. As always comments and feedbacks are very appreciated.
* Silat is a collective word for indigenous martial arts that originates from Indonesia, it is traditionally practiced in, Malaysia, southern Thailand, Singapore, Vietnam, Brunei and the Philippines. Police silat is often considered the most brutal and can be used to subdue or kill the opponent. Most styles uses little throws and focuses on quick jabs, strong strikes and agile movements.
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudo!
Click the Good Story! button above to leave the author a kudo:
And please, remember to comment, too! Thanks.