Oranges in the Esplanade

The moon was huge and round, like a giant salted egg yolk hanging over Penang. It was Chap Goh Mei, the fifteenth and final night of Chinese New Year. In George Town, the air was thick with the smell of grilled satay, sea salt, and the sweet scent of Lok-Lok vans.

Thirteen-year-old Belly stood at the edge of the Esplanade seawall, clutching a bright, bumpy Mandarin orange. Her best friend, Lily, was giggling next to her, already shaking her own orange like it was a maraca.

“Quick lah, Belly! If you don’t throw it now, all the good luck will be taken by the aunties!” Lily teased, pointing at the crowd of people jostling for a spot near the water.

Belly looked at her orange. In neat, black permanent marker, she had written her phone number and a tiny message: Hope to find a friend who likes books.

In Penang, the tradition was old: “Throw orange, find a good husband.” But Belly didn’t want a husband. She was thirteen! She just wanted someone to talk to who didn’t think her obsession with old history books was “boring.”

“On the count of three!” Lily shouted. “One… two… THREE!”

Plop! Plop!

The oranges hit the dark water of the North Channel. Dozens of other oranges were bobbing in the waves, looking like tiny glowing lightbulbs. Belly watched hers float away. She felt a bit silly, but also a little bit sparkly inside.

The Unexpected Catch

The next morning, Belly’s phone buzzed during breakfast. She was busy eating her soft-boiled eggs and toast at a kopitiam with her Ah Ma (grandmother).

Unknown Number: Hello. Is this the person who likes books? I found your orange at the rocks near the food court.

Belly’s heart did a little somersault. “Wah, so fast?” she whispered.

Belly: Yes! Who is this? Did you pick it up with a net?

Unknown Number: No net. My name is Ah Boon. I was helping my uncle clean the plastic trash near the shore this morning. I saw your orange stuck between two stones. I didn’t eat it, don’t worry.

Belly giggled.

Belly: I’m Belly. What kind of books do you like?

Ah Boon: I like stories about the old sea captains and the hidden tunnels under George Town. My uncle says there are ghosts, but I think it’s just history.

Belly nearly dropped her spoon into her coffee. Finally! Someone who didn’t just want to talk about mobile games or K-pop.

For the next week, Belly and Ah Boon texted every day. They talked about the “Blue Mansion,” the smell of the spice shops on Beach Street, and how the monkeys at the Botanical Gardens were basically tiny gangsters. Ah Boon was funny, a bit shy, and he lived just a few streets away near Armenian Street.

The Mystery of the “Old Man”

“You must be careful, Belly,” Ah Ma said one afternoon, fanning herself with a newspaper. “Last time, people throw oranges and find nice boys. Now, you throw orange and find… who knows? Maybe a 50-year-old uncle playing prank on you!”

Belly froze. She hadn’t thought of that. What if “Ah Boon” wasn’t a boy her age? What if he was just a bored man with a long beard?

She decided to test him.

Belly: If you are really a student, tell me—what is the best snack to buy after school?

Ah Boon: Easy. The Uncle with the motorcycle outside the school gate. You must get the ‘Tik Tok’ ginger candy or the plum powder guava. But the ginger candy is better because it makes your tongue feel spicy-sweet.

Belly breathed a sigh of relief. That was a very “student” answer.

They decided to meet. Not at a mall, but at the Clan Jetties—the wooden houses built on stilts over the sea. It was the perfect place for two history lovers.

Meeting at the Jetty

Belly arrived early. She wore her favorite yellow T-shirt and felt very nervous. She looked at every person walking by. Is that him? No, that’s a tourist. Is that him? No, that’s a fisherman.

Then, she saw a boy standing by a wooden pillar. He was wearing a faded blue shirt and holding… a small, dried-up Mandarin orange.

“Ah Boon?” she asked softly.

The boy turned around. He had messy hair and a very wide, slightly awkward smile. He looked exactly her age. “Belly? You… you look less like a bookworm than I thought.”

“And you don’t look like a 50-year-old uncle,” she joked.

They walked along the creaky wooden planks of the jetty. The sea breeze was cool, and the smell of salt and old wood was everywhere. Ah Boon pointed to a house at the very end.

“My grandfather used to live here,” Ah Boon said. “He told me that during the old days, the jetties were like a secret floating city.”

Belly nodded, her eyes bright. “I read that they didn’t have to pay land tax because they lived on the water! So clever, right?”

They spent the whole afternoon talking. They shared a bowl of Ais Kacang—shaved ice with colorful syrups and red beans. It was the best day Belly had had in a long time. It wasn’t like the movies; there were no fireworks or dramatic music. It was just two kids who felt like they had known each other for years, all because of a stray fruit in the sea.

As the sun began to set, turning the Penang sky into a painting of pink and orange, Ah Boon reached into his pocket. He handed her back the orange skin she had thrown. He had dried it out carefully.

“I kept the number,” he said, blushing a little. “Just in case I dropped my phone in the sea.”

Belly laughed, her heart feeling as full as the Chap Goh Mei moon. “I think we don’t need the orange anymore. I already have your number in my contacts.”

As they walked back toward the bus stop, Belly realized that Chap Goh Mei wasn’t just about finding a “husband” or “wife.” It was about the magic of a small town where a simple orange could turn a stranger into a best friend.