Ket Siong had been circling around the reason she’d invited him in, not daring to speculate on what it might be. So long as he didn’t think about it, he couldn’t be wrong, and disappointment couldn’t get any purchase on him.

Renee was making it hard to keep up this obvious and rational approach, however.

“Yap Ket Siong.” Her gaze was wistful. A wisp of hair had escaped from where she’d tucked it behind her ear. It made Ket Siong’s fingers itch.

“It must be destiny, us meeting again like this,” said Renee. “You know, you broke my heart.”

In this evening’s chance encounter with Renee, Ket Siong recognised a gift from the universe—the workings of an unexpectedly generous fate, beyond predicting or outmanoeuvring. If he did or said anything, he might shatter the magic, set the moment to flight.

But this was too much to endure in silence.

“Renee, I never meant to…”

She put a finger on his lips. He felt the touch all through his body, like the vibrations of a struck bell.

“It’s OK.” Renee smiled up at him. “I’m not a girl anymore. You don’t have to worry about me taking this too seriously. I’ll take it for what it is.”

There were questions Ket Siong should be asking, things that needed to be understood between them. He should clarify whatthiswas, that she wasn’t going to take too seriously. He owed her an explanation of the reason he’d hurt her all those years ago. And though he was scarcely entitled to it, confirmation of the current status of her heart—engaged or otherwise—would have been welcome.

But these were all the demands of his brain, which was decidedly behindhand with events. His body was ahead of him; it knew the game. His arms were already sliding around Renee, his head bending.

Renee raised her face, her lashes veiling her eyes. He’d forgotten how small she was. She was as fine-boned as a bird in his arms. But there was nothing delicate about the way she met his kiss.

She put an arm around the back of his neck, pressing herself against him, her mouth bold against his. Her body locked perfectly into his, all softness and strength.

Amazing as this was, his neck was starting to ache from the angle. He gathered her up, hoisting her up onto the kitchen island without breaking the kiss.

Ket Siong was busy trying to get Renee’s jacket off her without allowing any distance between them when it struck him that he should probably check that that was OK. He pulled back.

Renee was breathing hard, her lips red. She didn’t seem inclined to talk. She drew him back in, wrapping her legs around him, and Ket Siong’s body told his brain in no uncertain terms to check out and come back later.

There seemed nothing for it but to comply.

Then

“I don’t know what to do,” said Renee.

They were in Ket Siong’s room at halls, on a chilly November evening. Renee had come by from a cookout with friends, bearing a plastic container of fried rice.

“Derek made it,” she’d said. “He insisted I take it home, but there’s no way I’m going to finish it all. I thought you could have it. You’re so tall, you can’t tell me instant noodles are enough to keep you going.”

Derek Lim was one of the various boys who orbited Renee. There was an Italian personal trainer who texted her photos of himself after workouts, gleaming and minimally dressed; a Chinese Ph.D. student in Glasgow, the son of a CCP bigwig, who sent her iPhones and Tiffany bracelets she either donated to less-monied friends or returned in the post; and Derek. He was a Singaporean studying engineering at Imperial who teased Renee about her international school–accented Singlish and made her regular offerings of home-cooked chicken rice and curry laksa. Ket Siong cordially disliked him.

But all of these boys combined worried Renee less than her ex.

“Andrew keeps messaging me,” she said. “I don’t reply, but he gets so worked up. But I can’t block or report him, because of my family.”

She was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her. She was a little drunk.

Ket Siong didn’t usually like the smell of alcohol on people, but it was like Renee processed it differently, or something. A clean, sweetish smell rose from her, like the aroma of a good sake.

He was at his desk, eating Derek Lim’s under-seasoned fried rice, because Renee had said she would throw it away otherwise.

“Your family don’t care that Andrew was messaging that girl?” he said. Renee had told Ket Siong about breaking up with Andrew over the summer, when Andrew had sent her an R-rated text obviously intended for another girl.

“I haven’t actually told them we broke up,” admitted Renee. “They’d kick up a huge fuss. Dad loves Andrew. His grandfather founded this big property empire in Malaysia. Dad’s hoping we’ll get married. It would be a big win for Chahaya.”

“Isn’t your father rich enough already?”