The Night Market – Part 1: Shared Table

The noodle stall at Shilin Night Market had a queue of thirty, a single stool and a grandmother who shouted.

Mei had waited forty minutes. She lowered herself onto the last seat at the counter, rubbed her hands together, and found herself next to a very large, very lost foreigner staring at a menu in Chinese.

"Can I help?" she said, in English.

He turned. He was thirty, tall, with kind eyes, an engineer's lanyard still round his neck, and the dazed look of a man who had spent six hours on a plane and two hours in a market. "Please. I've been pointing at things for ten minutes. Something arrived. I think it's a duck's foot."

"It is."

"Is it good?"

"Is it good?" Mei considered. "It is a very bold choice."

She leaned over and ordered for him in rapid Taiwanese: a bowl of beef noodle soup with extra pickled greens, a plate of braised pork rice, the cold sesame noodles. The grandmother glared, then nodded.

"I'm Jonathan," he said. "I'm here for a week. I design bridges."

"I'm Mei. I'm a nurse. I design nothing."

"You've just designed my dinner."

They ate side by side, elbows touching. The market roared around them, steam, neon, sizzling oil, and for the first time in three months, Mei forgot to check her phone.

Afterward, he insisted on paying, and she insisted on showing him dessert, which led to a bubble tea, which led to a stall selling fried milk, which led to a long walk through the lit-up alleys, laughing and sticky-fingered.

"Can I ask you something?" said Jonathan, at the edge of the market.

"Yes."

"Is this a normal Tuesday for you?"

"No," said Mei, honestly. "This is a very good Tuesday."

"Green?" he said, using the word she'd taught him with the chilli.

"Green," said Mei, laughing. "Very green. Come. There's a night view."

Continue the story: Part 2 – The Night View.