No, you are not going to die. You can’t, Del. You cannot give up.

But I had, I had. And I was not good anymore. Not to anyone, not to Omar, not to myself. I closed my eyes and saw Alba. Sitting on a swing in the playground, looking at her new yellow shoes with delight. I had just bought them after she picked them out from a store. Jelly shoes, see-through ones. We had doughnuts at a bakery in the same mall, laughing when we had identical sugary moustaches, we sang in the car as we drove to the playground, where I pushed her up on a swing, higher and higher until her laughter turned to tears, and then cradling her in my arms, her chubby hands tugging my ears and cheeks, her warm lips kissing me, saying Mama, Mama for the very first time.

Omar noticed that the bottle was almost empty when he heard his handphone ring. It was an unlisted number and as he pressed it to his ear, he regretted picking it up and was going to end the call when he heard a familiar female voice.

“Omar, it’s Nim.”

His hand reached for the snifter of whisky and he took another gulp.

“Nim?”

“Imran’s friend. Remember?” she spoke again.

Omar cleared his throat and spoke slowly, trying not to slur, “Ah…from the wedding…Alba’s birthday… and Hanoi airport!” He heard silence.

“Am I intruding?,” she asked quietly.

“Not intruding at all,” Omar slurred back. He leaned back on the couch and took another swig of whisky. His head was throbbing and he thought to get up for some water, but he found himself to be unsteady and fell back onto the couch.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice probing gently.

“No,” he replied, his voice breaking. “My baby is gone…”

“Yes, I know. Omar,” she continued, “I am so sorry, I wish I could help…”

“Come over,” he said gruffly. “Right now.”

“Now?” Nim asked, her voice surprised.

“Yes, will SMS you my address. See you soon.”

Omar hung up, drained the glass, tapped his address and pressed the send button. He got up, pulled his clothes off and strode through the living room, through the bedroom and into the shower. When he emerged ten minutes later, he heard a police siren from the street below. Momentarily confused, he thought himself to be in London, in his apartment in Shoreditch where police sirens were an everyday affair. He shook his head and remembered the time when he had arrived from London, and how he’d met Del, all those years ago. He ruffled his hair dry on a fluffy white towel and walked towards the window. He looked down and saw people going in and out of the building across. He wondered if Del would be there that night, getting high and off her head. He pressed his head against the glass pane and sighed.