Sharp jaw, curly dark brown hair. Light eyes with flecks, skin that was darker than Fairman’s. A distinct mole on the left cheek. Black glasses. Expensive. An old Rolex on the left wrist. Golden hairs on his arm. Scholarly. Lean. Either the well-read type or the financial type. I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes, letting the low purring of his car lull my mind into quietude.

Traffic was building up. It was a long way to PJ, but we drove in silence. I dozed off and he shook my arm gently as we passed the yellow arch separating KL from Petaling Jaya.

I directed him to my apartment, a rented floor of a 70s semi-detached house close to my childhood home, but in the poorer part of Section 5. When I walked up the stairs, I felt self-conscious and as I pulled my torn skirt around, I felt his eyes on me.

As I opened the front door, the words tumbled out of my mouth.

Don’t leave, please stay. I don’t want to be alone right now.

I felt foolish, like a damsel in distress, something I never ever thought of becoming.

He smiled and shrugged. Sure.

I had no valium and it felt like the world was colliding into me. He picked up a chair, sat down by the balcony and stared out. I offered him a glass of cold water from the fridge, which he accepted gracefully. The balcony overlooked a playground, empty this time of the morning, but he seemed happy to sit and stare, content in his thoughts.

I like your balcony, he said when I came out wrapped in a towel. It reminds me of my grandmother’s house on the east coast.

He got up and walked towards me. I held my breath. He grabbed both my shoulders and turned me towards the bedroom.

You need to sleep, he said firmly and pushed me towards my bed. I felt embarrassed, my bed unmade, my flat a mess. He seemed so cultured, sophisticated. I turned to say something, but I decided not to.

I lowered myself slowly onto the bed, needing to be horizontal. I didn’t expect him to, but he sat down next to me.

There, there. Sleep now, little lost girl.

His hand fluttered over my hair, and with the first stroke I suppressed a moan. He stroked my hair, my face, my arm. It was exquisite. Gentle. When I woke up, the windows streamed with a humid, yellow light. My body was sticky with sweat. He was gone. I got into a panic.

Who is this man?

And why had I asked a stranger to take me home? Invite him in? Have him sit on my bed? The universe had aligned its forces for our paths to cross in the most unholy of ways.