The Scar

Every time she looked at the back of her left hand, James popped up.

“I challenged girls to put out a cigarette on their hands, but none would take it. I dare you.” James looked at her seriously.

“Hell, yeah!” She lit her cigarette, smoked until it gets short, and was ready to put it out on her hand, and then she said, “this is silly, you know.”

“Think of it this way; I will soon migrate, the scar will always remind you of me, our silly friendship,” the big-nosed Sri Lankan-Malaysian lad had his way of convincing her.

“Ok, ok. Done.” She did it, pronto.

“What! I didn’t think you would do it!” he screamed while doing a facepalm.

“Too late, the damage has been done.”

It has been 24 years that James left Malaysia, but to her, he never left. He remains on the back of her left hand.