The Star Ferry – Part 2: The Late Ferry

On Daniel's last night, they took the late ferry back and forth for three hours.

The harbour at midnight was black and silky, laced with the lights of passing ships. The skyscrapers blazed like a vast jewellery box. The wooden ferry rocked gently, its engine humming. Mei and Daniel sat at the stern rail with a bag of egg tarts and two paper cups of lemon tea, watching the city rise and fall.

"I finished the drawing," said Daniel.

"May I see?"

He turned the sketchbook round. It was extraordinary: the whole harbour in a flowing line, the lights as dots of gold ink, the water blue, and the small figure on the bench. This time, there was a second, beside her. A man with floppy hair. They were leaning together.

Her throat tightened. "You've put yourself in."

"I took a liberty."

"It's the best thing I've ever seen."

"You haven't seen my buildings."

"I'd like to."

"Come to Melbourne."

"I can't."

"Then I'll come back."

"Can I ask you something?" said Mei.

"Yes."

"Will you? Come back?"

"Every month," said Daniel. "I'll design a building in Hong Kong. I'll find a reason."

She laughed. The wind lifted her hair. Behind them, the skyline blazed.

"May I kiss you?" she said.

"Yes," said Daniel. "And if you say stop, you must take the late ferry with me every night."

"That isn't a punishment."

"I'm told I'm bad at them."

She kissed him, soft and salty, one hand on his shirt collar. He kissed her back with a gentle, wondering warmth. The ferry rocked in the swell. A tugboat sounded its horn across the water.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

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

He came back in March, with a roll of drawings. The first building he designed in Hong Kong has a rooftop terrace, a ferry-shaped balcony and a bench for two.

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