You’re going to OD one of these days.

She laughed, of course. Not a chance in hell.

I walked on, furious at her, at myself, my heart flapping in my chest. I just needed to get home, shower and sleep.

Miss, are you all right?

I kept walking.

Miss!

I turned and I saw him.

Miss, your skirt is torn, are you all right?

I was quite a sight, apparently. This he told me later, over and over again.

You, standing there in the morning light. Torn skirt, red shirt unbuttoned, standing like a five-year-old tottering in her mother’s heels for the first time. Your hair glowing around your shoulders. You were shivering, your eyes wild. And I, like a fool, fell in love.

That’s how I met him. The man who would one day become my husband and transform my life forever.

Two

Reformasi!

He was up.

Jet lag permeated his body and he had tossed and turned around for hours. He’d taken a pill on the thirteen-hour flight and still, he could not sleep. He leaned over to the side table, reached for the tall glass, drank all the water in it and stretched his stiff body.

“Damn these flights,” he muttered.

The air conditioning in his room hummed. It was too cold. He got out of bed and pulled the curtains open. Light flooded into the room and he covered his eyes. He’d told his parents over and over again that the only good thing about the apartment was that it was in the heart of the city, but it offered no views. Only the tops of other buildings, endless traffic and the relentless party-goers who straggled in and out of the clubs on weekends.

His stomach growled. He thought of a hot, flaky roti canai with lashings of chicken curry, dhall and a hot cup of tea. He wondered if the old Indian lady with the stall down the road would be open. A quick shower eased his nerves and he picked a fresh T-shirt and shorts from his open suitcase. Fifteen hours ago, he had been in freezing London and now he was home. The last conversation he’d had with Jessica had been unpleasant.

“You fucking bastard, leave again, like you do. Fuck you!”

He’d hung up and deleted her number.

It was over, and she no longer had a hold on his life. It was time for new beginnings, newer and better things.

He had taken the lift down, waved at the Security Guard as the thick glass doors slid open.

“Hello, Sir, nice to see you again. Have a good day, Sir,” the guard said in a Nepali accent.

The heat hit him in the face. Immediate beads of sweat converged on his nose and forehead. The morning air held the promise it would be cool later, with some rain.