The Night Market – Part 2: The Night View

They took a bus up the hill to the end of the line, then climbed a steep path through bamboo and cool air. At the top was a wooden platform, empty but for a bench and a view.

Taipei lay below them in a spill of light, white and gold, with the slim tower of 101 glittering at its centre.

"Oh," said Jonathan.

"I come here when I'm tired," said Mei. "After a long shift."

"It's incredible."

"It's mine. I don't show it to anyone."

He turned to look at her. "Then why me?"

"Because you ate the duck foot," said Mei, gravely.

He laughed, a deep, warm laugh that echoed in the dark bamboo. They sat on the bench, shoulder to shoulder, and she told him about the hospital, the long hours, the way the city sounded at four in the morning. He told her about the bridge he was building in Rotterdam, and how he'd wanted to walk across it with someone.

"Can I ask you something?" said Jonathan.

"Yes."

"My flight leaves Sunday."

"I know."

"Would you let me come back? Not just for a week."

Mei's heart gave a tender thump. "I'd like that very much."

"May I kiss you?"

"Yes," said Mei. "And if I say stop, you must eat another duck foot."

"That is a truly cruel threat," said Jonathan, and kissed her.

It was gentle and unhurried, a big warm hand cupping her face, the taste of sweet tea between them. Below, the city shimmered. A night breeze moved in the bamboo.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Mei. "Very green."

He came back in October. He ate the duck foot. It was, he admitted, delicious.

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