The roar of the motorcycle engine tore through the busy streets of Jalan Tun Razak. The sea of metals congesting the roads to the capital city made Ikram clicked his tongue. He snaked through the cars, kicking lightly at the body of the cars most of the time.
This is why I hate going to the capital
Ikram zoomed through until he finally saw some sort of movement from the cars in front of him. Once through, he looked back and shook his head. What the hell caused all that congestion anyway?
The view of the capital's landmark, the Petronas Twin Tower, rose in the far distant like a pair of giant straightened practice chopsticks.
Ikram tore through the now flowing highway towards the growing landmark of the nation.
The green bike stopped in front of a rather busy restaurant and Ikram killed the engine. He sat up straight and pulled out the piece of paper which has the address written by the old man before. He looked again at the name and at the address written underneath it. It matched. He grinned and pulled his helmet off his head. The touch of warm breeze felt great to his face. He gave his head a shake and got off his bike.
Ikram entered the restaurant and sat on a table closest to his bike. He placed the helmet on the table and scanned the place. The place was moderately decorated, nothing stood out like a sore thumb or enough to make him remember it. It was as if the owner had intentionally made it so that no one remembers much about it. He unfolds the paper again and read its content. His eyes jumping from the paper to the large signboard with the restaurant's name just above the door leading to the kitchen. This is the place, alright.
"Yes sir, what would you like to have?" a waitress, a rather bland looking girl stood next to the table where Ikram was. She wore a tudung, a head scarf that wrapped around her head, covering her hair all the way down to below her chest. Ikram looked to her and smiled.
"Can I meet with the owner of the restaurant?" he said.
The girl frowned, as if she could not catch what Ikram said. "Excuse me, sir?"
Ikram sighed. He tried to keep his smile and repeated his question.
The girl kept her frowned, but asked Ikram to wait while she went back to the counter, talking to the man behind it. Ikram saw her and the man looking at him and then back again. Ikram folded the paper and slipped it into the inside pocket of his rider jacket. He pulled his helmet closer and watched the girl as she came back.
"Sir, may I know ask why do you want to meet with the owner?" the girl said.
Ikram leaned back. "Ustaz Ikhwan send me here, he said he needed the owner's help" he said with his arms crossed.
The name surprised the girl. She gave Ikram her thanks and went back to the counter. After a few nod, the cashier, or the man behind the counter called out for Ikram and signaled him to follow.
Ikram grinned and grabbed his helmet.