His mouth was on mine again, and I felt him move over me. I could feel his erection, hard against my thigh. Then, it was on my chest. He swooped over me and it was in my mouth. His penis in my mouth. His thighs pinned my face down. I could not move. Couldn’t breathe. Two. Three. Four. On the fifth thrust, he filled my mouth with his come. In shock I swallowed it all, turning my head to one side, some of the bitter saltiness dribbling out.

He slowly slid next to me and hugged me, kissed me on the cheek, muttered something inaudible, stood up, picked up his bed sheet and left, closing the door softly. Outside, I heard more screams and whoops. I ran to the bathroom, stuck three fingers down my throat and threw it all up. I drank a whole bottle of white wine, sitting in bed, blanket around me, body shaking. I could not cry. I felt nothing. We avoided each other after that. He dropped out after two semesters and I never saw him again. I never told a soul. Not José, not even Sumi. Omar? No fucking way. I would take this to my grave.

It was my personal shame. I was stupid, stupid, stupid. And I got what I deserved.

So Omar and Fairman decided to go into business. Running Saksi had depleted Fairman’s trust fund somewhat by give take two hundred K, so the most logical option for both was to go into a business partnership. Omar’s degree in civil engineering would finally be put to use and Fairman’s father’s law firm would oversee that contracts were signed and sealed. I suppose I was relieved that Omar had exhibited some sign of ambition—or practicality—we were going to be married after all, he had spoken to my father like a gentleman, and now he was going to make sure that we had a financially stable future. Both young men had to prove to their fathers that they were capable of building and creating their own paths in life, and I knew that Omar felt it especially. He did not speak of his father much, but his mother and his sister Lulu whom he spoke to every week were very precious to him.

Fairman decided to pass on the Saksi mantle to Imran—the poster boy incarnate for alternative journalism—who had found investors to make it work as an independent online daily with ads and all, like proper! Saksi already had the reputation of having the most edgy online reportage, it had a following of more than one hundred thousand subscribers, so it was a step forward in a direction that would challenge the role of the online media even more.

Thirty ringgit a month, times a hundred thousand, that’s three million in the bank, every month! Fuck!