The Star Ferry – Part 1: Crossing

The Star Ferry left Central at seven, and Mei had taken it every evening for six years.

She sat on the upper deck by the rail, in her office clothes, with a paper bag of egg tarts, watching the harbour darken. The skyscrapers of Hong Kong blazed behind her in a wall of coloured light, red, blue, gold, reflected in the black water. The air was warm and salty. Seagulls wheeled in the glare.

Opposite her sat a man with a sketchbook.

He was thirty-one, lean and tanned, in a rumpled linen shirt, with floppy dark hair and a pencil behind each ear. She had noticed him on the ferry three nights running. He drew fast, intently, glancing up at the skyline between strokes. Tonight, for the first time, he was looking at her.

"Sorry," he said, catching her eye. "Is it rude? I'm drawing the harbour. You happen to be in it."

"What's it like?"

He turned the sketchbook. She saw the skyline in a few bold lines, the black water, the passing junk. And on the bench, a tiny, perfect figure with an egg tart, her hair blowing in the wind.

"Oh," said Mei.

"I'll rub it out."

"Don't."

He grinned. "Daniel. I'm an architect. From Melbourne. I'm here for two months to look at tall buildings."

"Mei. I look at tall buildings every day, from underneath."

He laughed, a warm, easy laugh. The ferry rocked gently, and the lights of Kowloon swam closer.

They talked the whole crossing, the engine thrumming, the harbour wide and glimmering. When they landed, he asked if she would take the late ferry back with him, just to see the lights from the water. She had never in six years taken the ferry back.

"Can I ask you something?" said Daniel.

"Yes."

"May I finish the drawing?"

"Green?" she said, a ferry signal.

"Green," said Daniel, delighted. "Very green. Tomorrow. Same ferry."

Continue the story: Part 2 – The Late Ferry.