The Tuk-Tuk Ride – Part 2: Sunset Road

The road ended at a headland.

Dilan stopped the tuk-tuk on a bare grassy point, switched off the engine and let the sudden silence settle. Below them, the Indian Ocean heaved against black rocks, throwing up plumes of white spray. The sky was turning from gold to apricot to crimson. A single sail crossed the horizon.

"Come," he said.

They sat on the grass at the edge of the headland. He brought a flask from under the seat and poured two small cups of sweet milk tea. The wind was warm and smelled of salt and frangipani. Nora held the cup in both hands, watching the sun slide into the sea.

"I've never seen anything like it," she said.

"It is like this every night."

"You never get tired of it?"

"Never. I bring everyone. But I do not sit with everyone."

She turned her head. The sunset lit his face in red and gold. He was looking at the sea, not at her, and a faint flush rose in his cheeks.

"I was supposed to fly to the hill country tomorrow," said Nora.

"I know."

"I think I'd like to stay on the coast."

"For what?"

"For the tuk-tuk."

He laughed. "It is a very uncomfortable tuk-tuk."

"I've grown fond of it."

"Nora." His voice was low. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"May I be allowed to hope?"

"Yes," she said. "May I kiss you?"

"Yes," said Dilan, smiling slowly. "And if you say stop, you must hire me for a week."

"That's no punishment at all."

She kissed him, sweet and a little salty, a hand rising to his baseball cap. He kissed her back, slow and warm, tasting of tea and sea. The surf thundered below. The last of the light poured over the headland, turning the whole world to copper.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Nora. "Very green."

She hired him for a week, and then a month. She bought a second helmet. The tuk-tuk still coughs. It has never once been late.

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