The Singapore Orchid House – Part 2: Full Bloom

Neither of them moved for a long time. The greenhouse was warm and green and softly lit, the open flower glowing on its bench. Rain streamed down the glass.

"I should draw it," said Mei, not moving.

"You should."

"I'd rather not just yet."

"No." Daniel's voice was quiet. "Neither would I."

She put down the sketchbook. He wiped his hands slowly on his apron, and she watched his fingers, the dark soil under the nails, the careful way he folded the cloth. When he looked up, his eyes were very warm.

"Mei. I'd like to kiss you. If it's welcome."

"It's very welcome."

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, like everything he did. He cupped her face in his earth-stained hands and she laughed and kissed him harder, tasting tea and rain. The humid air wrapped around them. A drop of water ran down the glass.

"My flat is behind the nursery," he said, against her forehead. "Ten steps. There is a dry roof and coffee. And no pressure at all."

"Ten steps," said Mei. "I counted them on my first day."

They ran them in the rain, laughing, soaked to the skin. The flat was small and plain and smelled of green tea. Daniel found her a towel and she took his hand instead. They undressed slowly by the window, still laughing, hands trembling a little now with nerves and joy. The bed was narrow. The rain sang on the tin roof. They learned each other with the same patient attention he gave his flowers, and she answered with a warmth that was entirely her own.

In the morning the whole greenhouse smelled of wet earth and blossom. Mei sat at her bench in his shirt and drew the burgundy orchid, line by careful line, while Daniel watched from the doorway with two cups of coffee.

At the bottom of the finished drawing she wrote a title in tiny letters: Slow to Bloom. Worth it.

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