The drive down from Barker Road had been a short one, but as the car wound along the steep roads of The Peak, the cityscape flickered in and out of view, momentarily framed by gaps in the trees. Hong Kong at night was a different creature—no longer bathed in the soft, golden hues of dusk but illuminated in neon brilliance, the skyline a tapestry of light and shadow. The air had been cooler up there, fresher than the dense humidity that lingered over the streets below.
The Peak Lookout sat on its perch like a quiet sentinel, its warm, inviting glow a contrast to the city's electric pulse. A relic of old Hong Kong, the restaurant had stood there for over a century, its low stone walls and colonial architecture whispering of a time before glass towers and LED billboards. It had long been one of our go-to spots—not just for the food, but for the unspoken tradition of it.
I had come with my younger brother, Alex. He and I had always been close, despite our differences in personality—he, easygoing and social; I, a little more introspective. Growing up, we had spent countless summers together, navigating the narrow streets of Hong Kong, eating our way through its food stalls, and indulging in the occasional sibling rivalry over games of volleyball or table tennis. But as we grew older, life had pulled us in different directions. We no longer visited as often as we once did, and when we did, our time in Hong Kong was fleeting. That was why these dinners mattered.
We stepped inside, the polished wooden floors creaking ever so slightly underfoot. The scent of grilled seafood and spices drifted through the air, mingling with the faint smokiness from the outdoor fire pit. The staff recognised us, offering a nod of welcome as they led us to a table on the terrace. Outside, the night stretched wide, the city twinkling below like scattered diamonds on black velvet.
Alex glanced at the menu, though we both already knew what we would order. It was a quiet ritual, the way we came here every so often, flipping through the pages as if we needed convincing before settling on the same familiar choices.
"The lamb rack," Alex said, closing his menu.
I smirked. "Predictable."
He shrugged. "It's good."
I glanced at the options before me, though my mind was already made up. "I'll get the seafood platter."
We placed our orders, and the conversation drifted effortlessly—from everyday nuisances to grand, half-formed ideas that neither of us took seriously. Alex talked about his week, his voice calm but animated in the way only family could recognise. I listened, adding my own thoughts where necessary, but mostly just appreciating the ease of it all.
The dishes arrived, steaming and vibrant in colour—the lamb, seared to perfection, sat elegantly atop a bed of roasted vegetables, while my platter gleamed with fresh prawns, scallops, and lobster, their shells catching the dim candlelight. The first bite was a reminder of why we kept coming back.
"You know," Alex said between bites, "we should probably try somewhere new next time."
I raised an eyebrow. "You say that every time."
He laughed. "And yet here we are."
We ate unhurriedly, the sound of soft conversation and clinking glasses filling the space around us. A couple at the next table murmured in French, their words slipping into the night like poetry. Further down, a family posed for a photo against the backdrop of the skyline. Somewhere in the distance, a tram rattled along its tracks, making its slow, deliberate climb up to The Peak.
By the time we finished, the night had deepened, the terrace quieter now as the evening crowd began to thin. We lingered over our drinks—Alex with a glass of wine, me with my coffee—watching the lights flicker in the distance. There was something grounding about that place, about that routine. No matter how much life changed, how far we went, this remained.
Eventually, we settled the bill and made our way back to the car. The air was cooler now, the kind of crispness that only existed up there, away from the heat of the city. As I started the engine, Alex leaned back in his seat, looking out over the view one last time.
"Next time we're in Hong Kong?" he asked.
I smiled, shifting the car into gear. "Yeah. Next time we're in Hong Kong."80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSsE1BDNlBR
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