a book on writing.

You bought The Modern Library Writer's Workshop: A Guide to the Craft of Fiction, by Stephen Koch, while browsing at Books Actually.

the morning after.

You stood alone, your back facing the hostel, looking anywhere but behind you.

It was the morning after. Yesterday night you tried to get to her. Now you wanted to get away from her.

What were you thinking back then? Or did you not think at all?

You heard her call your name, and felt her approach. Cautious. Unsure. Awkward. Silence.

Then,

"I... I'm thinking of visiting the shrines today. Kyoto is well-known for its shrines. What about... you?" She asked.

"I think I will head downtown." You replied.

Then, (sheepishly), "dai jo bu?" [Japanese]

(Did you really have to ask?)

"Actually, my stomach is not feeling too good. It must have been the coffee I drank yesterday night." She offered.

You knew better. But you decide not to say anything more.

Because you should have known better.

"I am going now." You said, turning to look at her.

"Oh, me too."

"Alright then. ja ne."

You turned away to walk away. Westwards.

She walked Eastwards.

You walked until the city skyline came into view, making sure not to slow your pace, nor to turn around and look anywhere but in front of you.

The morning after, the city skyline came into view, alongside the dawn of your realization: you are such a scumbag.

Because you should have known better. The morning after.

Scumbag.

nobody said anything.

10pm. Sunday night. An hour before book-in.

You and her. In a taxi, headed towards Nee Soon Camp.

Nobody said anything.

Tough -- the cost of the long distance phone calls; the time difference; the experiences, your experiences (to you, at least); your mother's disapproval.

Nobody actually said anything.

She held your right hand in her left. But you had forgotten to squeeze her hand, like you usually did. For reassurance.

Still nobody said anything.

The taxi came to a stop along Transit Road.

The gates of duty beckoned. Once more.

Avoiding her gaze, you opened your side of the passenger door.

As you stepped out, you felt a tug on your right hand.

Finally, you turned back. And looked. Into her eyes.

She kissed you, and held her gaze.

She had begun to cry.

Still nobody said anything. You would like to think you both understood.

You closed the passenger door and walked towards the camp gate.

At that moment, you felt as if you could accomplish anything.

Even if it was just for that one more week.

was it worthwhile?

Happy birthday, Girl Next Door.

[author's note: work in progress]