8p.m. at the diner by the fuel station meant two things. One: The start of their ever famous night menu, complete with cakes and lattes for the late-night patrons. Two: Soft ballads pulled out from the quiet night air by a tiny reserved figure that was usually hidden behind the folds of a black apron for the most part of the day.

The lights would dim ever so slightly, the semblance of a setting to a romantic dinner in the middle of a cheap diner, as the boy would remove his apron and rather hesitantly curl his fingers around the mike proffered by the manager. As the notes were carefully struck, the light tinkling of tapped wind chimes, each head in the diner would turn. Most would furrow their brows in curiosity for what was their waiter doing really, was he singing? But for the regulars, this was the reason they returned to the diner each day by 8, sipping chowder from raised spoons, lips upturned in a content smile for they knew what this signalled to.

And so the show would begin, gentle lyrics tugging at scrolls of shared experience from dusty alcoves dug out in memory, that feeling of ‘yes I’ve been there before’  drawing soft trails around the diner. For in those moments, the light breeze of the waiter’s voice built bridges in the air among the diners who were linked by those snippets of heartbreak and joy, the diner a glowing hearth in the middle of an unmarked highway on the outskirts of the city.

Yet all too soon, the notes would taper off into the night air and the spell would be broken as the lights came back on. Smiling the diners would applaud mildly to the already bowed figure in the middle that had now shrunk back into the folds of his apron, gushing at the compliments being showered on him. Empty plates would be left behind and slowly the diners would get up, stretching slightly to shake off the remnants of the fairy dust that had settled into their clothes before leaving the diner, their steps a little lighter than when they had stepped in.

~*~

‘Yah Luhan, you should really think about going somewhere with that voice of yours. The diner’s too small a stage for the likes of you.’ The manager completed his statement with the slight shrug of his shoulders, cloth in his hand as he wiped clean a stray dish along the counter. As was customary (for that question had been repeated a grand total of ten times each day for the past six months), the reserved boy shook his head lightly, slight smile lighting his features in polite rejection.

‘Nah, you know I wouldn’t but if I did, you can finally hang up one of those signs announcing that the world-famous-singer Luhan used to work at this diner. The diner would finally be full for once!’ The manager laughed, the kind of laughter that had his shoulders shaking up and down in merriment as his curled moustache twitched.

‘You rascal! Don’t you think you have enough to work with already? Now go before the customers are after you for forgetting their orders!’ He rapped the boy’s head good-naturedly before pushing him off once more on his rounds.

Between the polite smiles and the quiet inquiries of ‘Did Mrs. Woo need any help with the groceries?’ and ‘How is Mr. Lin’s mother faring?’, Luhan considered the possibility of a life in the limelight, away from the quiet sanctuary of his home town that he had known for all these years. And with a slight chuckle he pushed the thoughts aside for what was he really other than a small time waiter in a secluded diner somehow having been cajoled into bringing his closet performances to the diner at eight each night?

The hands of the clock were soon resting at the fifty-five minute mark, five shy of eight, having rushed through the day with more vigour than was necessary. The hot bowls of chowder had been served, the slight chatter of the diner setting a lulling rhythm to the backdrop as Luhan pulled away from the counter and took up the mike waiting for him in the palms of the manager. The spidery hands finally ambled their way to eight and the boy cleared his throat and began, feeling the room slip away from around him like a discarded robe as his eyes regarded each individual in the diner, each pair of eyes set on him with interest as he noticed the sparks of recognition within them.

With the completion of a crowd favourite number, he pulled out a second that he had completed that day, the words finally having fit themselves together after four painful weeks of hasty additions and frustrated cancellations. The first note was teased out and as he was about to step off onto the next, the swing of the diner’s doors punctuated by the tinkling of the doorbell broke through to yank him back sharply onto earth. The quiet note was just as quickly snuffed out once more by the cold draught that had been pulled in with the opening of the door and the entrance of a curious diner bundled in a warm hoodie and scarf.

He was painfully aware of the eyes still fixed on him, still held in place by the lingering notes of the previous song yet it seemed impossible to rub away the creases that had made their way between his brows at the sight of the newcomer. Wide eyed in childish delight, the newcomer’s gaze flitted across the menu and the plates of food stacked at the back of the counter for a quick refill, hopping from one to the next but it seemed persistently ignorant of Luhan standing at the centre, mike in hand, disgruntled by the indifference of the customer. Just as quickly, the intruder rushed off to a seat by the window of the diner and quickly pulled out a laptop and began to type furiously into it.

And every other pair of eyes in the diner seemed to be locked onto Luhan, barely aware that someone had entered the diner at all.

If Luhan had the urge to swear at the newcomer he kept it sealed within his throat.

Awkwardly, he apologized for the pause and he continued with the song that had abruptly (and rather rudely for that matter) been cut off. The new verses melded into the air as the notes grew familiar to his ears and the tune slipped past his skin and he felt the familiar calm settle over him once more. Yet there was a persistent dull scratch at the back of his throat each time his gaze inadvertently turned to the stooped figure by the window only to find that his head had never lifted away from his computer screen, not even once, throughout the entire performance.

As was the routine, the songs came to a close and the diners filtered out in silent contentment. But today was different. Today there were no lingering traces of scattered fairy dust and webs of threaded gold spun from notes over the diner. There was no warm rush of blood coursing through Luhan, the gratification of a job done well. He was only left with the hollow echoing of gazes unreturned as the intruder strode out of the diner with a smile in the direction of the manager but not a single glance of acknowledgement spared for Luhan.

~*~

If there was one thing that Luhan detested, it would be without doubt when his songs failed to make that connection that he so tirelessly worked away to create, each word artfully picked from a selection of so many other choices. It was the bane of every writer, every artist to have walked and produced and created, to rouse the right reaction from their viewers and sweep up the satisfaction of having gotten it right in a basket of well wishes. That effort deserved returns yet a single individual in Luhan’s tiny life seemed hell bent on denying him of that contentment.

Every night, at precisely eight, the individual would turn up, huddling close to his hoodie as he desperately tried to rub life back into his hands. A smile would be sent in the direction of the manager and eventually Luhan, round cheeks swelling up in innocent glee before he would scamper off to the exact same seat, two tables away from the door and backed up against the window. That would be the sum total of eye contact Luhan received from the boy the entire night. Without fail, the boy would have his hands on a book or manuscript and at times his laptop that consumed his attention completely, no matter which song it was that Luhan belted out (for crying out loud, that boy was more interested in Jane Eyre than he was in Luhan’s ballads. Jane Eyre of all things).

It was a frustrating chase at best.

To Luhan though, it was slightly more than a futile chase to regain that feeling of completion that came with his performances. It was a complete and utter lack of comprehension as to why he was being ignored. Through the slanted breaks in the blinds, he noticed the newcomer buying books from the bookseller right outside the diner with his tattered array of books displayed on a cardboard box, often paying thrice the amount required. The money was gladly taken by the bookseller, a cat-like grin stretching from ear to ear as he tipped his hat in thanks and pocketed the money. He had to admit that it was a generous gesture given that the poor bookseller in question was also a boy who should honestly be attending university or working for that matter.

Someone with such a large and giving heart wouldn’t be stepping all over Luhan’s intentionally, would he?

Apparently, he would.

Soon, the initial bout of curiosity turned into a burning need to grab the attention of the silent newcomer. Songs were scribbled between shifts, melodies were hummed and created as he went on his rounds pouring coffee, and arrangements were put together as he washed the plates clean at the sink. Each night brought with it a new song, a different theme, a varied take on heartbreak and friendships and everyday mundaneness. He sung of comfort beneath the boughs of a sturdy tree, of the blustering tendencies of the autumn wind and the fickleness of strawberries.

Yet the results remained unchanged each time. While spoons were gently placed onto saucers and food was abandoned without a second thought, the unassuming stranger went on with whatever he had been doing without even a break in his motions. While each upturned face looked only at him, the pretty almond eyes of the newcomer were fixated on his work for the evening, lips occasionally curved in a slight frown.

It just made no sense.

*~*

The days slipped and rolled into weeks, increasingly seeing the frustration of Luhan at still being unable to elicit a response from the newcomer. Fourteen days of painstaking effort and six new songs and he hadn’t even been able to gain the eye contact of the stranger once over the forty-five minutes of his performance.

It was as if the newcomer was silently mocking him with a sadistic glee that he couldn’t fathom coming from someone that looked like a chipmunk with a mouth full of nuts.

Once again, the hands of the clock got around to reaching eight as the neon lights of the diner’s signboard flickered on. Fingers tight around the mike, his lips parted open and the liquid notes rushed out with more fervour than ever before, questioning the chase of an unrequited love, of a fruit never to be had and a frustration akin to that coursing through him at that point. He caught himself once, twice, from glaring daggers at the ignorant boy, whose solemn chestnut brown eyes were fixed on the window, reflecting them back with an added glint. To Luhan, all that could be seen out of the window were the dark expanses of plain fields and an empty road with nothing on it. And to that boy, it seemed the empty roads could hold more appeal to him than Luhan’s voice ever could.

No, he couldn’t even come close to speculating a reason for that.

As he came to the end of his third song, he noticed the boy’s gaze had shifted little from the silent roads and the unmoving air outside and came to the biting conclusion that the infuriating newcomer would never acknowledge him. It was a wasted effort having stayed up all those nights for someone who didn’t even appreciate the music, didn’t even bother trying to listen.

‘If people don’t listen, there’s no point in trying to please them. I quit.’ These words mumbled to himself while to the audience he apologized and cited a bad throat for being unable to continue. This was accompanied by the abrupt ending of the performance as the mike was shoved into the hands of the confused manager and the apron that was discarded to one side was gathered with barely restrained anger and tied around him once more. Drawers were swung open before being slammed shut once more, pots and pans dragged out, only barely maintaining the noise level that could be tolerated by the diners.

The injustice of the situation really.All that effort for absolutely nothing.

As Luhan busied himself about the counter, making sure that he sent out a ‘I’m permanently going to ignore you for the rest of my life’ vibe in the direction of the silent individual by the window, the doors of the diner swung open and a tall, lanky male stepped in smiling wildly. Pushing his fringe to one side, he greeted both Luhan and the manager, apologized for the intrusion and made his way further into the diner sheepishly. As he took a seat opposite the newcomer, the sudden fire alight in the boy’s eyes had Luhan’s brows rising slightly in surprise yet he quelled the churning in his chest and watched on from the corner of his eyes, breath quickening as the pieces fit themselves together and everything became clear, as clear as the chill night air outside.

For the lanky male who had just stepped in and the quiet newcomer spoke through frantic movements of their fingers, of shifting hand signals and vivid facial expressions. No words were spoken yet the glinting in the newcomer’s eyes spoke volume, they screamed of barely withheld joy and emotions that could never be masked.

The newcomer was deaf.

Luhan had to stop short of laughing, of giggling at his miscalculation and he abandoned whatever misgivings he had of the individual at his feet. For that matter, he had to restrain himself from singing ‘He’s deaf, he’s deaf’ out loud which would probably label him as having lost all sensibility and was hardly the most sensitive thing to do. But beyond the initial joy of having received an answer, there seemed a lingering sourness on his tongue as the fog cleared and he came to two conclusions for the day. One: The newcomer would never be able to taste music, never get to feel it like it should be and two: it would now become his personal goal to make sure his music reached the newcomer.

One by one, the customers left and with them so did the two by the window and as the last few customers filed out, the bookseller from outside shuffled in. Instinctively, Luhan took out a bowl of chowder he had set aside and as the manager attempted to push the poor boy out of the diner, Luhan found it in the goodness of his heart to convince the manager to let him have the food just this once.

‘Thanks and this chowder is really good, mhpfh.’ The words came rushed as the bookseller gobbled down the food between bites of bread. Luhan, rather reluctantly, pushed over a muffin as well, seeing as how his heart was floating on clouds and he should probably pay reparation for the of good luck to keep it coming.

‘Took you awhile to figure things out, I thought you’d never realise. Oh well good luck, you’d probably need it’ Luhan frowned involuntarily, thoughts frantically linking the missing dots before coming to a conclusion on what the bookseller had been hinting at. By then, the food was all gone and the bookseller had disappeared. In his place, was a book on common Korean sign language with a note on top.

To help. The least I could do in thanks. Hopefully, this helps you woe the guy over. Best of luck in your (doomed) love life! –With lots of love, your neighbourhood love guru, Chen

Frigging hell.

~*~

Luhan awoke to the slight nudging of his shoulder and a familiar gentle voice.

‘Luhan, kid wake up. You fell asleep in the diner.’

As light prickled at his sight, the blurred objects around him slowly cleared into recognizable, defined items. A plastic table.A  soft couch under him. A book in his hands. Oh.

‘I’m sorry, must have accidentally fallen asleep while I was reading this. I’ll go wash up. Thank you.’ He smiled at the manager, who’s concerned features gradually eased into a smile before he walked away to set up the diner for opening. Rubbing away the sleep from his eyes, he gathered the book in his hands; spare sheets of paper with words carefully scripted out and accompanied by hand signals. If this didn’t work tonight, he had no idea what would.

~*~

8p.m. at the diner by the fuel station meant two things. One: The start of their ever famous night menu, complete with cakes and lattes for the late-night patrons. Two: Soft ballads pulled out from the quiet night air by a tiny reserved figure that was usually hidden behind the folds of a black apron for the most part of the day.

The figure stepped up as usual, brushing aside the sandpaper blonde bangs falling over his face as those delicate features grabbed the attention of the patrons, all except one. So the lights were dimmed, leaving alight the single lamp hanging over the second table from the door backed against the window over a thin frame huddled over a folder. Biting his lips, the boy by the window looked up, startled, gaze shifting before finally landing on the figure taking centre stage at the diner. His mouth remained set in a straight line yet his brow was raised comically on one side. The figure centre stage smiled brightly, hands raised as they shifted through a series of signals without a hitch.

This is for you. I hope you like it.

A wave of curiosity and silent murmurs spread through the crowd for was there something special for the show tonight? The boy by the window only smiled, eyes alight in childlike anticipation.

You light up the room

You don’t even know

It’s all I can do

To leave you alone

But don’t bring me flowers

You worry too much

Oh my darling, to know you see me is enough.

With each line, the almond eyes of the boy grew wider as they remained fixed on the boy at the centre of the diner, easily shifting through practiced hand signals that flowed along with the notes escaping his mouth. With a slowly growing smile on his face, the boy signalled back. Yes, I see you. as the song continued once more

We can dance around the kitchen

And candles cost nothing

You can make me a ring from a milk bottle top

The money runs out and the meter, maybe we’ll stop

You light up the room

You don’t even know

So it’s all I can do

To leave you alone

So babe who needs chocolate?

All that champagne and stuff

Oh my darling to know you see me is enough

And as the ending lines of the song came to a close as all things must, the crowd remained mute, each hugging their own memories of sweet actions by loved ones while the almond eyed boy clapped in delight before hesitantly signing back.

That was extremely sweet. Could you come over please?

And after the quiet waiter grinned back, signalling a yes in agreement, the two conversed for hours, long after the last few diners had left and the lights had been turned off. Their topics spiralled from writing to how the newcomer (Minseok, as the waiter had come to understand) looked like a Bao(at which point his cheeks had puffed up in denial) to the eccentricities of the bookseller, talking till the night was upon them and it was best they leave. Maybe, if this was what you got from being a small time waiter cajoled into performing in a tiny diner in the middle of nowhere at eight, life wasn’t that bad after all.