jadetiggy - Tumblr blog

jadetiggy · 2 months ago

Text

Between Dawn and Karambits

Who would have thought that Teja Iskandar, once the embodiment of chaos, would ever settle down, let alone become a wife and mother? Certainly not me.

In my prime, I thrived on recklessness and impulse. Give me a pair of karambits, my weapon of choice, and I could feel the adrenaline surge through my veins like fire. Men and women alike feared me, though they never dared to say it aloud. I exterminated those who deserved it, and I did so without hesitation or remorse. The blood on my hands? It wasn’t a burden. It was a satisfaction, a reminder of my craft.

Back then, cruelty wasn’t a flaw. It was my joy. It was my power. So long as I wasn’t caught, I was untouchable.

“Her eyes gleam with bloodlust.” 

“The Angel of Death walks in Teja’s shadow.”

These whispers followed me wherever I went. I relished it. The fear, the awe, it filled me, made my chest swell with pride.

Hate? I knew nothing of it. This was never about hate. It was simply what I did. A job. A thrill. A masterpiece painted in blood. I never left a task unfinished, and I never left without leaving behind a corpse.

Fatefully, I met Arif Haqeem.

At first, he was nothing more than a target—just another name on my list. But something changed. We became fast friends, and for the first time in my life, I questioned the purpose of a kill. He was honest, almost naive, starkly contrasting with the world I had always known. He knew of my lineage, my family’s empire, and the darkness that clung to me, yet he remained by my side. Loyal. Unwavering. He saw something in me that no one else did. Not even myself.

My father, Iskandar Zulqarnaen, a name steeped in irony, borrowed from a great Macedonian conqueror, despised the bond I shared with Arif. To him, Arif was a weak link, a man unfit to stand beside me, let alone carry the weight of our family name. My father had built his empire on fear and respect, a legacy that sent shivers through the underworld.

Yet, for all his ruthlessness, my father was no mindless brute. He was a man who weighed his decisions carefully, believing in negotiation before bloodshed. This was what truly set him apart in the underworld, not just his power, but his ability to command respect without unnecessary carnage. Those who underestimated him mistook his diplomacy for weakness. They learned soon enough that it was merely the calm before the storm.

My mother, Bayu Hassan, however, saw what I had initially failed to recognise. She reads people like an open book, and from the moment she meets Arif, she approves of him without question.

But my father? A man of his stature does not waver so easily.

Eventually, Arif broke through.

Through months of sheer resilience, he carved a place for himself even in my father’s cold, guarded heart. He proved himself not through violence or fear but through something far more powerful: integrity, strength of character, and an unwavering sense of loyalty.

Eventually, my strong-willed father saw it too. He saw that Arif wasn’t just worthy of me; he deserved something greater. Perhaps even the successor to my father’s legitimate businesses.

“Be sure you do not interfere with her work,” my father had warned him after Arif came forward with his intentions to marry me.

And Arif, with his ever-patient and sincere smile, had nodded in agreement.

Months after we were diijab kabulkan*, I carried a new life. We were blessed with a baby girl, born at dawn. We named her Embun Arif, as delicate as the morning dew, yet carrying the quiet strength of her father. (* solemnisation)

Motherhood changed me in ways I never expected. It taught me patience, softened the edges of my once-brash nature. The more time I spent with my little girl, the more I felt the fire of destruction within me fade into something else, something unfamiliar, yet powerful. The instinct to kill slowly withered, replaced by an even stronger impulse: to protect.

At first, I feared this change would weaken me. Was I losing the very essence of who I was? But in time, I understood. It hadn’t made me weaker; it had made me stronger.

After my father retired from the underworld, I took my rightful place at the helm of his empire. Meanwhile, Arif, ever the steady hand, took charge of my father’s legitimate businesses, a domain where his honesty and strategic mind flourished. Under his leadership, they thrived, proving that a man of integrity could still build an empire, just not the kind my father had envisioned for me.

Yet, through both my father’s and Arif’s guidance, and the presence of my little Embun, I learned to tame the bloodthirsty monster within me. The thrill of destruction that once defined me began to wane, replaced by something unexpected. Control. Purpose. Responsibility. Lessons I never sought, but ones I came to value nonetheless.

Two years passed. Life had shifted, yet some things remained the same. Duty called, and once again, I had to turun padang* to settle a dispute. (*to go to a location oneself)

But for the first time in a long time, my biggest concern wasn’t the negotiation, nor the possibility of bloodshed. It was leaving Embun behind.

Embun’s nanny, Ani, had balik kampung to care for her ailing mother. Arif was away, accompanying his mother for Umrah, and my own mother, while willing, wasn’t built for the chaos of a restless toddler. I had always been accustomed to navigating dangerous situations, but leaving my daughter without someone I fully trusted? That was a different kind of unease.

But help, as always, comes in unexpected ways. And despite my sins, my past, and my darkness, I found myself thanking God for it.

“I will help babysit Embun, Kak*,” a voice called out. (* elder sister)

I turned to see Azam, standing before me with his eager stance and voice brimming with confidence.

Once, he had been nothing more than a skinny and desperate boy, caught trying to steal from our home four years ago. Back then, I had been ready to beat him into the ground, to teach him a lesson that would leave a permanent mark.

But my father had stopped me.

And now, here he was, a young, muscled man shaped by redemption, offering to protect the most precious thing in my life.

I narrowed my eyes at him, assessing. “Are you sure?”

I knew he had younger siblings, but Embun was a force of nature, quick-footed and mischievous. Could he handle her?

Azam simply grinned. “Of course, Kak. I’ve handled worse.”

I wasn’t sure whether he meant his past or the storm that was my daughter. But for once, I chose to trust.

“Okay, Zam. I trust you,” I said, levelling him with a sharp gaze. “But listen carefully. Please do not take her anywhere she isn’t supposed to be. If I find a scratch on her, I’ll do more than pull your ear. Understand?”

Azam grinned, unbothered by the thinly veiled threat. “Got it, Kak. No scratches, no trouble.”

Before I could say anything more, a small, excited voice pierced the air.

“Mama! Mama!”

I turned, instantly softening. “Sayang*!” (* a term of endearment, eg: my love)

I crouched down, arms outstretched as Embun barrelled toward me, her tiny feet pattering against the ground. She crashed into my embrace, her hair a wild mess from her nap.

“Was it a good nap?” I asked, smoothing down her unruly curls with my fingers.

She grinned. That cheeky, all-too-familiar smirk and nodded eagerly. “Ajam play!”

I barely had time to react before she wriggled out of my grasp, waddling straight to Azam, who welcomed her with open arms. I watched as she clung to him, her tiny fingers gripping onto his shirt.

Azam, the street-hardened boy I had once wanted to break, had an entirely different side to him now. He was gentle, patient, and oddly natural with her, something I had never expected.

“Ajam carry Bun Bun!” Embun demanded, bouncing in excitement.

Azam chuckled, effortlessly lifting her into his arms. “Okay, okay! Ajam carry Embun.”

I studied the two, an unfamiliar warmth settling in my chest. Had I made the right choice? A part of me still doubted, but I had to let go. For once, I had to trust completely.

“Alright, Azam. Keep her entertained while I gather my things for my meeting,” I said, brushing my daughter’s cheek with my fingers before looking her in the eye. “Sayang, be good for Abang Azam, okay? Mama will be back tonight.”

She giggled and nodded, already charmed by her new playmate.

As I turned to leave, their voices followed me.

“Ajam, how you get this?" Embun asked, her tiny fingers tracing a faint scar on his cheek. I slowed my steps, waiting for his answer.

Azam chuckled. “A scary lady beat me to make me realise my mistakes.”

I smiled. Damn right, I did.

That scar was my doing as a lesson seared into his skin the day he wandered into Chinese territory and nearly started a war. He had been reckless, careless. Luckily, negotiations had been secured in time. A delicate balance of power restored before things could spiral out of control. If not, Azam wouldn’t have lived long enough to learn his lesson.

And it wouldn’t have been my hands that ended him then.

No, the streets have their own way of dealing with reckless mistakes. Had diplomacy failed, he would have been nothing more than a nameless body in the river, a warning to others who dared to tread where they shouldn’t.

But fate had been kind to him that day. Or maybe, just maybe, I had been.

And yet, here he was now, carrying my daughter as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

Funny how life worked.

Later on, Embun and Azam waved enthusiastically, their figures growing smaller in the rearview mirror as the car pulled away from my home. I had left many things behind before—people, bloodied battlefields, entire chapters of my life, but this was different. This time, I left with a weight in my chest that I couldn't shake.

Normally, I would have sent Johan, my right-hand man, to handle negotiations, especially when Ani had to balik kampung. He was reliable and efficient and knew how to use diplomacy and violence in equal measure.

But this was not a normal case. The situation was delicate—dangerously so. Had it been any other dispute, I would have let Joe handle it. But when Jayson Leong, the Chinese head, and Suren Subramaniam, the Indian head, both personally requested my presence, I knew that this meeting was different. Sending a proxy would have been seen as a sign of disrespect. I had no choice but to show up myself.

Even as I sat among the other racial heads at Suren’s temple base, my body was present, my mind sharp, my rationality intact, but my heart was elsewhere.

It was at home, where my daughter played in the arms of a reformed thief.

And for the first time in a long time, that unsettled me more than the meeting before me but what was at stake before me needed to be settled.

The meeting was long, tedious, and dangerously close to turning into a bloodbath.

Jayson wanted one thing, Suren wanted the complete opposite, and I was stuck in the middle, a human buffer between two raging storms. Had either of them drawn their weapons, this so-called negotiation would have descended into chaos right in front of me.

But I had too much at stake to let that happen. I decided to remain neutral, my mind working overtime to find a solution that wouldn’t ignite an all-out war between the Chinese and Indian factions. Violence was easy. Peace? That took skill.

With my daughter’s safety, my father’s good name, and my own damn sanity in mind, I knew I had to offer them something they wouldn’t outright reject. A compromise.

Whether they’d like it or not was another issue entirely.

“Jayson, you recently got married, didn't you?” My voice cut through the heated shouting, stopping the Chinese boss mid-sentence.

His rage-filled glare snapped toward me, but I didn’t flinch.

“Yes, Kak Teja. What does that have to do with Suren’s dogs causing a scene in one of my gambling dens?” he bit out, his temper still simmering.

I ignored the insult thrown Suren’s way and turned to the Indian boss instead.

“And you, Suren, your daughter, Prema, wasn't it? She just gave birth to your first grandchild. A boy, if I’m not wrong?”

Suren, who had been ready to fire back at Jayson, paused. His clenched fists loosened just slightly.

“Yes,” he admitted, his tone calmer than before.

I glanced down at my phone's lock screen, Embun’s chubby little face smiling back at me. Then I raised my eyes back to them. Two powerful men, so caught up in their own ego and fury, that they had failed to see the bigger picture.

“This dispute between you two, have you even stopped to think of your wife, Jayson? Your grandson, Suren?”

The weight of my words hung heavy in the air.

The two men, who had been moments away from tearing into each other, sat down. They weren’t happy. They still looked like they wanted to strangle each other. But at least, I had their attention.

Jayson exhaled sharply. “Spit it out, Kak Teja. Where are you getting at?”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table.

“You’ve both seen the CCTV footage. You’ve questioned your men. Instead of blindly trying to kill each other, how about you actually handle this like leaders?”

They both narrowed their eyes.

“Bring in the ones responsible. Let them talk. If they’re at fault, punish them accordingly. If it was a misunderstanding, settle it like men. No more sending hit squads over something that can be solved by a simple conversation.”

For a brief second, I heard my father’s voice in my head. The same wisdom he had drilled into me all these years.

Jayson leaned back, still tense, but listening. “And if one of them refuses to talk?”

I smirked. “Then you know exactly who’s guilty.”

Silence stretched between us. Then, begrudgingly, Jayson nodded. Suren followed, albeit reluctantly. The storm was far from over, but at least I had stopped the first drop of blood from being spilt.

By the time the meeting dragged to its conclusion, the truth had finally come to light, though at the cost of wasted time, tempers, and almost a full-blown war.

Jayson and Suren had spent the better part of the evening shouting into their phones, demanding answers from their respective men. The tension in the room was thick, their frustration palpable. But when the puzzle pieces finally fit, the absurdity of it all became clear.

The entire conflict had been built on a misunderstanding, one side blaming the other for a mistake neither of them had made. And at the heart of it? A foreign Indian man who had played them both, stirring the flames just enough to make them turn against each other.

I watched their realisation unfold in real-time, the slow, dawning shame of men who had almost gone to war over nothing.

“So,” I began, breaking the silence, “What’s the plan now? Are your gangs still hell-bent on killing each other over some outsider's tricks?”

Jayson exhaled heavily, running a hand over his face. His arrogance had drained away, replaced with something closer to irritation, not at me, but at himself.

“Kak,” he started, clearing his throat as if trying to regain some of his composure. “We’ll find that foreigner and… teach him a lesson.”

I smirked, not surprised. Typical Jayson. Quick to anger, quicker to seek vengeance.

Suren, on the other hand, remained quiet for a moment, still caught in his own thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost reflective. “How were we so stupid because of one pundek?” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “Jumping to conclusions like that… Letting one man manipulate us.”

I raised an eyebrow, picking up my now-cold tea and giving it a slow stir with the tip of my finger.

“Well,” I said, taking my time, “If the two of you had actually presented your facts properly instead of screaming at each other like a couple of angry monkeys, maybe this could have been solved hours ago.”

I took a slow sip, savouring the taste, while they sat there in silence, undoubtedly feeling the sting of my words.

Jayson scoffed, but he didn't argue. Suren let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

Neither of them liked admitting their mistakes. But tonight, they had no choice but to swallow that bitter pill.

At least, for once, nobody had to die for it, but I cannot say the same for the foreigner.

“What do you suggest we do, Teja?” Suren asked, arms crossed, but his tone had shifted. The tension that once filled the air like a loaded gun had eased. “I'm willing to cooperate with young blood Jayson here.”

His words held a teasing edge, and Jayson, who had been fuming just moments ago, burst into a thunderous, slightly embarrassed laugh. The kind of laugh that signalled a truce, an unspoken agreement that this wasn’t worth the bloodshed.

I let them have their moment, watching as the hostility between them finally cracked.

“That’s entirely up to the both of you now,” I said, my voice firm yet dismissive. “The foreigner wronged you both. Handle it however you see fit—just don’t drag my family into it.”

That last part wasn’t a request. It was a warning.

Jayson, usually quick with a snarky retort, merely nodded. “My Ah Pa was right about you, Kak.” His voice had softened, a rare glimpse of sincerity peeking through. “You really are the embodiment of Uncle Iskandar.”

I leaned back slightly, letting his words settle. I had no issue taking credit where credit was due, but that was… quite the flattery. Too much, even. Yet, I didn't reject it. My father’s name carried weight in this world, his name could stop wars before they started, just as it had done tonight.

I smirked, “Alright, enough talking. It’s late. I want to go home to my little girl.” I met both their eyes, my tone light but my message clear. “And do me a favour, settle this quietly and together.”

It wasn’t just advice. It was a directive. A final nudge in the right, or probably ethically wrong direction. I didn’t have to spell it out. They should know exactly what I, or more importantly, what my father would have done.

And just like that, the meeting was over.

As I pushed myself up from my seat, grabbing my phone off the table, I caught movement from the corner of my eye, Suren rising to his feet.

“Teja,” he called, his voice steadier now, the weight of the night’s tension finally lifting. “Kirim salam to your father. I’m glad you took over from him when he retired.” There was a pause, a flicker of amusement in his expression before he added, “And let me know if you ever want to introduce little Embun to her new friend.”

I smirked, shaking my head slightly at the implication.

“I will,” I replied, my voice smooth, yet laced with finality. “Regards to Prema, too.” Then I turned to Jayson. “And Jayson, please send my regards to Uncle Leong, Aunty, and your wife.”

He gave me a short nod, his usual arrogance tempered by respect. The kind that came only after recognising someone as an equal.

With that, it was finally done.

As I stepped out of the temple, the cool evening air hit my face, bringing with it a sense of relief, brief, fleeting. My body may have left the tension of that room behind, but my mind had already latched onto something else.

I glanced at my phone, checking the time, almost Maghrib. But what stole my breath for a second wasn’t the time, it was the missed message from Azam.

“Kak…”

That was it. No follow-up. No explanation. Just ‘Kak’.

And it had been sent an hour ago.

A message like that from Azam was not normal. He was never vague. Never hesitant. Never left things hanging.

My stomach coiled with unease, but I forced myself to stay calm, my face betraying nothing. I was still in the presence of two men who were finally laughing, shaking hands, old enemies turned reluctant allies.

I wouldn’t let them see my panic. Not here.

Once I was certain I was out of sight, I moved. Fast. I raced toward my car, yanking the door open before my driver, Yusuf, could even react.

“Home. Now.” My voice was sharp, urgent.

Yusuf didn’t ask, and he knew better.

As the car sped off, I gripped my phone tightly, staring at the message, my mind running through every possible scenario.

The journey home felt agonisingly slow, despite Yusuf weaving through traffic as best as he could. Every red light, every stop, felt like a goddamn eternity.

Something was wrong. And I needed to get home. Fast.

Whatever was happening back home, it better not be bad.

I tried calling Azam. No answer.

Azam always answered my calls, always. Whether he was in the middle of a conversation, half-asleep, or wrestling with Embun, he’d pick up. But now, at a time like this, he was silent.

All sorts of thoughts raced through my head. 

Was there trouble? 

Had someone broken in? 

Had one of our rivals taken advantage of my absence?

Trying to shake off the panic rising in my chest, I tapped the next name in my contacts; my mother. She too didn’t answer.

That’s when the pressure in my chest tightened. My instincts, once trained to stay calm in the face of violence, were now spiralling because of a single vague text and radio silence from the people I trusted most.

Should I call my father? Should I ask him if anything had happened? But he’d ask why I was panicking. He'd remind me that fear clouds judgment.

Instead, I turned to the one person who had always been a reliable ear to the ground.

“Yusuf,” I said sharply from the back seat. “Did anyone update the WhatsApp group about conflicts? Any info from the boys? From the police? A raid? A break-in? Anything?”

Yusuf adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. I didn’t need to see his face to hear the unease in his voice.

“No, Kak,” he replied.

That answer should have reassured me. Only, it didn’t.

Yusuf was usually the first to know when something went wrong—he had a sixth sense for street whispers. A former police officer, accused of corruption but dismissed unfairly, Yusuf still had his connections in the force. It was that very network that made him an asset, which was why my father took him in as our personal driver, which he gratefully accepted.

The truth was, Yusuf’s dismissal was political, more to do with avoiding scandal than any real wrongdoing. The OCPD, knowing Yusuf’s potential, had quietly let him go but had also allowed us to take him in, with an unspoken agreement that Yusuf wouldn’t meddle in our darker dealings. In return, he stayed clean but informed.

That was what made his current silence even more unsettling.

“Yusuf, we need to get home,” I said, voice low but firm.

“Yes, Kak,” he replied immediately, accelerating the car into traffic.

The journey home felt eternal. The roads were choked with evening traffic, the kind that crept forward in inches. My fists were clenched, eyes flicking between the streetlights and the phone screen. I kept refreshing Azam’s message thread, as if willing more words to appear.

But there was still just that one word.

“Kak…”

When we finally reached the house, my eyes scanned the gates, the porch, the windows. Everything looked… undisturbed. Peaceful, even.

Still, I didn’t wait.

Before Yusuf could even shift the car into park, I’d thrown open the door and sprinted toward the front entrance, my heart in my throat.

The moment I stepped in, I heard it.

Laughter. Loud, carefree, and completely out of place.

I followed the sound, every step quicker than the last, until I reached the TV room. And there it was. Six grown men sprawled out on the floor, eyes glued to the television. On the screen, classic Mickey Mouse cartoons played on Disney Hotstar, the colours flickering across their scarred faces.

Right in front of the TV stood Embun, swaying on her feet, completely entranced.

I blinked, stunned.

“Alhamdulillah,” I whispered under my breath.

Not a soul noticed me. Not the men who had once dealt out violence without blinking, now giggling like children. Not the little girl who had them all wrapped around her tiny finger.

I took a quiet step back, already making my way toward the kitchen when Azam appeared behind me, cheerful as ever.

“You're home, Kak!” he chirped.

I turned slowly, arms folded across my chest.

“Yes, I am,” I said, my tone dangerously calm. “Azam, why did you text me like that with no explanation? You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

His grin faltered.

“Oh… that.” He scratched the back of his head, sheepish. “I was trying to ask how to turn on Embun’s cartoons… but then I figured it out and got distracted. I forgot to update you.”

I stared at him, then stepped forward and yanked his ear.

“Next time, remember to follow up. You had me thinking the worst!”

“Forgive me, Kak!” Azam cried dramatically, dropping to the ground in mock prostration.

I rolled my eyes and gave him a light smack to the back of the head.

“Good job taking care of Embun, by the way,” I muttered as I turned back toward the TV room.

“Mama!”

I turned just in time to see Embun running toward me, her tiny arms outstretched.

The men in the room scrambled to their feet, making a hasty exit like schoolboys caught misbehaving.

I crouched and scooped my daughter up into my arms.

“Were you a good girl for everyone today?” I asked, brushing her hair from her eyes.

“Yesh,” she said with a nod.

I smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Good girl.”

And just like that, the chaos faded.

I carried Embun to the couch and let her settle into my lap. Her small fingers played with the edge of my scarf as her eyes flicked back to the cartoons.

Outside, the evening azan* rang through the air; soft, haunting, and grounding. (* call for prayers)

The storm I expected never came. Instead, I was reminded that sometimes, the most dangerous threats are the ones we create in our own heads, and sometimes, the simplest moments are the ones worth killing for to protect.

As Embun leaned her head against my chest and sighed, I realised that peace isn't the absence of bloodshed; it's the choice not to spill it.

And for her, I would choose peace. Even if it went against everything I used to be.

#jajerszwrites #own fic #writing #inspired by an incident

0 notes