The journey had just begun.

“Remember,” Osman whispered. “The road is a bridge. This form is the toll. Pay it with honesty.”

For a second, the whole world went quiet. Arif wasn't just a teenager anymore. He was a custodian of the asphalt, a guardian of the white lines, a son carrying his father’s steering wheel into the future.

Osman shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his weathered face. He pointed to Section 4: Jenis Lesen Memandu yang Dipohon .

At that moment, a woman in a green JPJ uniform called his number: “A-47.”

Arif walked to the counter. He slid the Borang JPN DL-1 across the metal ledge. The officer stamped it with a loud thwack —the official seal of the Road Transport Department.

The ink on the was still damp where Arif had pressed his thumbprint. He sat on the hard plastic chair outside the Jabatan Pengangkutan Jalan (JPJ) counter, staring at the form as if it were a map to a new country.