My definition of romance is absent minded intimacy and his is the lack of it. I have borrowed a page from Kamila Shamsie’s Kartography, he has stolen a leaf from society’s manual on pretend manliness. Yet I cringe for we’ll never be, he lets go knowing I’ll find my way back. He says his heart is of steal, I try melting it the only way I can.

Back in his room after a long day at work, he lights the soybean candle and inhales in the Warmth and tranquility it exhales. I read of cuttlefish, unnamed streets and a city by the sea and smile…