The class was silent. A man in a faded GrabFood jacket whispered, “The bus, lah?”
“Next.”
Two weeks later, the physical card arrived. White, with a LTA logo and his photo—a slightly thinner, more tired version of the man who’d started this journey. He held it like a winning lottery ticket. pdvl license application
Jun Wei looked at the PDVL card. Then at his son. “Not fly, buddy. But I’ll drive. Carefully. And every night, I’ll come home.”
“No.”
She stamped the form. Fit to drive. The thud of the rubber stamp felt like a small, official heartbeat.
“Are you going to fly now, Papa?” Lucas asked. The class was silent
The doctor was a brisk woman with tired eyes. She checked his blood pressure, his vision. “Any history of blackouts? Heart conditions?”