When the afternoon sun had completely gone, Shoji sat on the bed and took off his shoes. The journey had left him exhausted, but he didn’t feel sleepy. He ordered room service for dinner.

While waiting for the food to be delivered, he debated whether to call Liyun’s house from the in-room phone. But what should he say when she answered the call?

‘Hi, Liyun. This is Shoji. I happen to be in Singapore. Can we meet up and have a little chat? For old times’ sake.’

As if that were the case … He was the man who had chosen to take a seven-hour flight from Tokyo to Singapore to discuss a matter that could have been resolved by a single international phone call.

He was still considering his options when the doorbell rang. A hotel waiter delivered his dinner, setting it up on the table.

Cajun-marinated chicken breast and rosti potatoes, finished with a warm chocolate tart. The food was delicious, though the tart was a little too sweet for his liking. Shoji wiped his mouth with the white napkin. It was now quarter past nine.

He showered and changed into a dark-blue shirt and black trousers. Then he went to the hotel bar on the highest floor of the building. It was a picture of opulence. A dizzying array of curved, golden decorations adorned the ceiling.

A lanky bartender in a black uniform greeted him from the circular counter.

‘What would you like, sir?’ he asked.

Shoji leaned closer. ‘Is there a cocktail you’d recommend?’

‘What about our signature cocktail? Tropical Daydreamer. It’s a blend of pink champagne, umeshu, ginger, and lime.’

‘I’ll have that,’ said Shoji.

The bartender promptly mixed his drink, while Shoji scanned the bar. It was full of young professionals. Not surprising, since the hotel was located in the business district. Unlike in Tokyo, the women here wore outfits with bold designs. In Japan, the more money a woman had, the more she’d wear an understated garment and blend in with the crowd.

‘Enjoy your drink,’ the bartender said.

Shoji thanked him and took the cocktail, moving to stand at a circular table next to a glass partition.

Thanks to the guidebook project he was working on, he was getting sick of hotel bars. They were the same everywhere. They provided impeccable service — albeit often impersonal — an extensive menu and a precise standard. When he told them he was from the press, the staff would usually be friendlier. But somehow, he still preferred those tiny bars in Ginza. The bartenders knew him and remembered the drink he had ordered on his last visit.

Still, as he stood at the edge of the bar sipping a tropical cocktail, the magnificent night view of the Central Business District didn’t fail to stir him. The plum liquor in his drink brought an odd sense of familiarity to this foreign place.

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