She looks so excited I can’t say no.

‘Is it long?’

‘It’s a visual diary of sorts.’

Tilly then gets out her phone and proceeds to show me one of the most depressing photos I’ve ever seen. Zooming in, you can see that she used twigs that she found on her walk around the compound (the only exercise in addition to yoga that she was allowed to take) to mark the date, with each day represented by a random object. The backdrop is a cracked concrete wall and floor with a couple of dead bugs strewn about.

‘What is that?’ I ask, pointing to something that looks like an old, chewed piece of gum.

‘That’s dried banana, to remind me of, well, the dried banana. It was the only thing we were allowed to eat at dinner time, and even then we were restricted to five pieces.’

No wonder she’s looking so thin.

‘Day fifteen was a good day!’ She zooms in to the washing-up liquid. ‘I finally managed to signal to someone that my water wasn’t working. The kindest man with the most sparkly eyes came to fix it, so I could take a bath and flush my loo.’

On day fifteen?! She had spent more than two weeks not showering even though it was blisteringly hot, and not flushing the loo, even though day three was ominously represented by loo roll? I had purposefully zoned out when she recalled that day. I haven’t eaten yet.

My eyes scan the rest of the photos to try and find something positive so my face doesn’t have to work as hard to keep a neutral expression. ‘Day twenty-five looks interesting.’

Day twenty-five is represented by a condom.

‘Oh yes! This was really the apex of my stay. Helped by the fact it was Buddha’s birthday, I managed to achieve a Buddha-enlightened meditative orgasm.’

Huh.

‘And –’ she takes a breath and leans in – ‘I met someone. He’s great. As soon as we met, we totally clicked even though we couldn’t talk for the first month of knowing each other. In fact, he’s the reason I came back early. I actually cut my trip short so I could help him find an apartment here in London. His name is Jeroen. He’s Dutch, tall and gorgeous, and I am madly in love with him.’

‘Oh, Tills, that’s so great. What’s he like?’

From this point on I hate myself a little, because instead of being totally and completely happy for Tills – poor Tills who really has been on a bit of a rollercoaster with relationships – only a small part of me feels genuine happiness, whilst the bigger, louder part of me feels jealous and sad and even more lonely and confused. She went travelling with no interest in finding a man. In fact, before she left, she had started referring to men as sperm donors. But not this time. This time Jeroen is a partner, her partner. And despite actively looking, I am still alone.