Day fell with a tremendous downpour into an early night. The dark clouds blotting out the sky. The street lamps still slept. The world a liquid grey.

Whatever light there was in the air reflected itself in the falling rain droplets, in the spherical droplets hanging on the leaves, in the puddles shivering on the road. I had my colleague with me under an umbrella. She was shivering too.

We rushed across the road, to the carpark, into my car. I started my engine, got the wiper wiping the water off my windscreen. And she said:

"Do you think that there is always a better man out there in the world?"

She was gazing out her side of the door window, slipping her wedding ring in and out of her finger.

I did not dare to say anything, merely offered her tissue to wipe herself dry. Her wet dress clinging onto her body would take a little longer to dry. I did not dare to look at her directly. I did not dare to look at her body of a Greek goddess. I did not dare to look at the grace of the movements of a Greek goddess when she wiped herself dry. I tried to keep my eyes on the road. I tried to concentrate on driving. I tried.

It was not long before we reached her condominium apartment. "Want to come up for something hot to drink?" she said, "I still have some time left over to do what I want."

"Your husband?" I asked.

"He's having another meeting tonight. Won't be back till the next morning."

We stared at each other. And we were so quiet. We could almost hear each other's heart beating. The pain each heart beat brought. The pain. The pain. The pain...

Then she sighed, leaned back on the car seat, and started fiddling with her ring again. I held her cold hands tight in mine to stop her crying. She turned away to look out of the car window. But she did not leave.

I drove us out of the condomium and back into the streets. The rain still fell everywhere. She still looked out of the window. And she had her legs up onto the seat, knees bended, and she hugged herself, and hummed a tuneless tune to herself.

The roads were endless, one connecting on to another, and their names became meaningless, one blurring to another. There was no destination to be sought. Only a journey to get out of here. Together.

At 6am, we were back at her apartment. She did not say anything this time. Did not thank me. Opened the door. Closed the door. And left.

I drove out of the condominium alone. Confused. I was feeling a little sad for her. And somehow, I was also feeling a little sad for myself. And also a little angry. I stepped on the accelerator and my car sped.

The rain finally stopped when I hit the expressway. The sun had come out and the world was golden and bright. I did not feel sad anymore. I smiled.

She was from the English Drama Society and she announced that she could produce tears in less than 3 minutes. She claimed that during drama practice the day before, she was the fastest among 20 other members.

I laughed, and said that not only could I cry within a minute, I could continue crying for another 10 more minutes.

Someone took out his watch and placed it on the table. The challenge was on.

She was serious and absolutely focused. Her arms were crossed and she stared intently at the blank blackboard.

He was leaning back on his chair, looking out of the classroom window, looking at something far far away. Looking at something that wasn’t there.

She was a good stage actress, intense yet dramatical. While I was the class joker. Many thought I was probably up to some nonsense, challenging her.

30 seconds passed, and his eyes were red. A few classmates shouted in surprise. She ignored the fact and closed her eyes. Her eyebrows were almost knotted up.

At the 54th second, his tears rolled down. And they kept on falling and falling, and falling. The others patted his shoulders, congratulating him. He gave them a smile, while the tears kept on falling. It was a strange smile, one that was almost painful to watch. After 10 minutes, even she was impressed. She shook his hand and invited him to join in for her next drama practice.

He left the classroom for the toilet to wash up. And didn’t come back for lessons that day.

Only now, on hindsight, did they guess that he went to the toilet to continue his crying. Alone. His real crying. With real hot tears burning down his face. He couldn’t bear to return back to class with red swollen eyes.