The final courtyard was thick with smoke and there were no Bodhi trees left, only monks in saffron robes making their way past the temples to a small room in one of the longhouses at the back of the pavilion. They sat around a wooden table, their air tanks behind them, and the rhythm of their movements was like a flock of starlings in murmuration. Their hands cycled up and down, lifting their masks to their noses, so that while some inhaled, others exhaled their prayers. A gong sounded from the small building, echoing into the dusty temple grounds, and then, like the humming of a thousand songbirds, the monks’ chanting rose from within the room. The sound caught Gabriel so unexpectedly that the wind left him, and he fell to his knees by the open doorway, fighting to catch his breath among the fumes.

Once, a long time ago, sandstorms blew smog past their windows like otherworldly clouds. David had taken him into his arms, and Gabriel had listened to the hum of his voice as David promised them a new life together. Now, everything he loved was gone: David was dead, his family forever inaccessible, the plane tickets to the US null and void. He was on his own, with nothing left but his breath, which seemed impossible to find amid the plastic fumes.

Alone at this monastery, where all was peaceful and every statue promised enlightenment, Gabriel felt the tears coming. They rolled down his face as the monks continued their polyphonic chanting beneath their oxygen masks, one voice layering atop the next, and he closed his eyes and let his tears fall. He didn’t open them when he felt the robes of the monk by his side, didn’t wipe his tears when the mask was placed over his nose and mouth. He just listened to the chanting, the music washing through the courtyard like waves of an incoming tide, and took his first breath.

COMFORT PORN

The wind on the water is strong enough to create waves, and the sun casts the scene in early summer light. When the camera pans away from the ocean and up onto the beach, there’s a crew of friends having a BBQ. The girls in bikinis wave, and the guys wearing cargo shorts and linen button-downs raise their beer bottles in my direction. One guy—bearded, tattooed, and standing alone—turns and looks at the camera.

“Hey, Mandy,” he says through my laptop speakers. Warmth spreads across my chest. The other friends turn to face the screen, their voices full of laughter. “Hey, you! Get over here! We’ve been waiting for you!”

Click. Pause. Drag the time bar thirty seconds earlier. Play.

Bearded-tattooed guy turns, his sandy hair blowing in the wind.

“Hey, Mandy,” he says. The others turn to face the camera, and my heart swells, pushing forward my tears. “Get over here! We’ve been waiting for you!”

Pause. Reverse. Play.