It was our first date and I was fifteen minutes late. A little breathless, I stumbled over my apology for the tube mix-up only to be cut off with a terse “you’re late.” He strode towards Southbank, then he pivoted back and pointedly tossed some coins to a busker. “He was entertaining me while I waited.” Ah, another one-drink date then. A pity. He even looked like his online profile. Years later, he would argue that it was closer to half an hour and that I should tell nicer stories about my husband. I guess I never learnt my lesson.
Kayla Lang is a small-town Malaysian displaced in London.