Imran was right. There was money to be made, and people were willing to pay for news that they could trust. He had decided to rename Saksi to MalaysiaTimes and that’s what it became.

Ladies and gentlemen, we are now live! Go to MalaysiaTimes.com to subscribe, and I am Imran Kadir, your Editor-in-Chief.

We were at Fairman’s late one night, and Imran tried to do a Michael Jackson-style moonwalk but almost tripped on the carpet, recovered, composed himself and took a bow. He took a swig of whisky from a bottle and raised it.

To Tunku Malik & Fairman. TMF Sdn. Bhd.

Two motherfuckers, he started.

Fuck you too, wanker! Fairman retorted.

We were all drunk, but there we were. The Review had become Saksi and now it was MalaysiaTimes. I looked around and saw Riz and Jin who raised their glasses—To MalaysiaTimes and TMF! Cheers!

Imran had asked Riz and Jin to work with him. After The Review closed, they had gotten jobs elsewhere, but Imran managed to convince them to be part of his team. It felt like a reunion of sorts, but it also marked the beginnings of new things. Of good things. We had to evolve. We just had to.

Sumi and Fairman were definitely a couple and it was a matter of time before he, too, popped the question. Imran was on his way to charting new ground in Malaysian journalism, and Omar and I were going to be married.

Omar had his arm around me. I was protected, I was safe. He loved me. He was doing everything right. Fairman and Sumi were locked in an embrace, their foreheads touching, their eyes full of love. She was all smiles. Imran swaggered and swore, his belly full of red wine and single malt. Riz and Jin were flushed with drink.

I had every reason to be happy, deliriously happy, even. But in that moment, in that living room where so much had happened, where so much had been said and done, where gallons of alcohol had been consumed and stories told by some of the best journos in the world, I felt the cold hands of melancholy on my neck.

The next evening, Imran decided to hold another party for his investors and his new staff at a newly opened Spanish tapas bar in Bangsar. We were all there, still hung over from the night before, there was a sense of revelry—we had to imbibe, eat, be happy, get drunk. The outward expression of happiness was necessary.

The bar was full of boisterous chatter but once again, I felt afraid. Apart. From everyone there. Things were too good. I didn’t trust it. At the end of the night, I was huddled in a corner, my worry like a shroud. I sat and drank quietly watching the crowd.