I called my mother, packed a bag and boarded the plane to Changi, feeling slightly guilty for missing work. It wasn’t that I was a particularly fastidious employee and I knew Ritika would pick up my slack even if she didn’t have to, but I spent the greater part of the flight resolving to be a better co-worker. However, then the pilot announced that we were about to land and nervous excitement took over.

I laughed out loud when I saw Jay waiting outside the airport, sweating through his suit and holding a bunch of wilting lilies.

‘So, Mr Dhillon, what am I doing here?’

He grinned. ‘Humouring my bad intentions.’

Jay had chosen well. Singapore was the best place to draw a week’s worth of time out of forty-eight hours. It was alive all night and, away from home, we were completely free to take advantage of that.

We had a four-hour dinner at the Sentosa Quay, discovering a mutual love of fine chocolate and second-grade sushi. We found out that we both drank too much coffee and ate dosas and idlis when in need of comfort food, agreeing that our Punjabi and Bengali ancestors probably twitched in their graves every time we did so. He chastised me for smoking but bought me a pack when I asked, handing it over reluctantly.

‘You’re the only girl I’ve done this for.’

It wasn’t a compliment. There was clear distaste in his voice. But there was also an admission, a singling out, an I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this. I savoured the sentence with relish, holding it almost as close as a promise.

He drove us back downtown, past the pretty island and through the unapologetically urban roads of the city. I stared at his hand on the wheel, strong, sure, destined to hold mine. We moved closer to Fullerton Square, and through a vast, warm marble lobby into a cool, dark room. And then we were kissing and I was thinking that I had been waiting forever for this, so why the hell could I not stop concentrating on the fact that a whole day and night’s worth of sharp stubble was razing my face? I tried to ignore it, but a particularly rough brush made me wince and Jay pulled away, concern clouding his voice. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Um, it’s just, you know, sort of poking me? Just a little bit?’ He looked horrified, and opened his mouth, visibly struggling for a minute before saying, ‘Oh, oh shit, I—wait— haven’t you—I mean, are you—’

‘No, NO! Oh! Not that! Your beard! Your face! Shaving . . . thing! Oh God! Not that!’