He sits in an empty house with the woman of his dreams nestled in his lap like a kitten, only bigger, more beautiful and more alive. He feels her soft breathing on his thigh, and in her face he sees vulnerabilities and strengths and hopes and fears- and he just hopes that he will be able to be the man that she deserves.

The floor and the walls are bare. They sit on a second hand sofa- minimalist, L-shaped, the cushion covers have been sent for dry cleaning. The inner casings are fragile, and the cotton is exposed in some places. A plastic bottle (H20 blackcurrant) is sawed open with a pair of scissors, serving as a de facto ashtray for the cigarettes they would smoke. So many cigarettes. The house is on the 10th floor, the wind is wonderfully brisk and you don’t need fans in a house like that.

The bookshelf is slowly populated. Plastic bags are on the floor, loosely filled with yesterday’s clothes and tomorrow’s hopes. Music plays from a pair of cheap speakers, plugged into the corner electrical socket. McDelivery breakfast. The fridge gets delivered, the electrical mains get replaced. The neighbours- a malay family with a matriarch and lots of kids- are friendly and kind.

The floor is cold. They have nothing, nothing, nothing but smiles and comfort and the realization that yes, now we can be together alone, here we are safe, here we are free. In these walls we are free from parents asking questions and siblings causing a mess and from questions.

They tear up an old towel to wipe their feet. The windows are cleaned with gusto. There is no heating, no hot water, showers will have to be improvised with taps and pipes. They will have to do. It is a blessing. The cold is a pleasant shock.

The fridge is not turned on. Electricity is expensive, and they have nothing that needs refrigeration  anyway.

The books pile up, beautifully. Only the favourites and the best get to make the long trip over, and they are arranged lovingly, by colour because it pleases her (and admittedly, him, too.)

It is freezing at night. Who knew Singapore could be so cold? There is no furniture to trap heat. They hold each other to keep warm. First they sleep on the floor, and then they get a $25 mattress from the neighbourhood provision store.

The first acquisitions are delightfully mundane. A bucket and a mop, to clean the floor with. Window cleaner. They ask their neighbours for newspapers, and are earnestly gifted a large bundle.

You can see the military airbase from the kitchen. The sun sets on it every day.

They explore their surroundings. Everything they could possibly need is either downstairs, or within walking distance. There’s really good prata nearby- and prata is rarely good enough to be worth mentioning, but this one is. The neighbourhood feels slower and more peaceful. There are few cats. The MRT still uses the old gantries (but the new ones have arrived, packed and wrapped.)

Soon there will be bills and tenants and the inevitable creeping of clutter.

They sit in an empty house, but they have each other and their dreams and that is enough. Maybe this is growing up, they think, when the cold bites at your toes but you smile because this time you are free, this time you are alive, and if only we could share it with the world, or if only we could bottle it up and take a good deep whiff every single day because surely this won’t last forever.

They play slow songs. They sit in near silence. It rains every day. It rains long and hard, almost as if to wash away the world outside the walls, outside of the space that they have claimed for themselves, theirs and theirs alone.

There will be struggles, there will be pain and there will be questions. Questions of careers, of meaning, questions asking- what do we do next, where do we go from here? There are mundane questions- we will need furniture, we will need a proper shower instead of using what must be an awfully old rubber pipe.

How do we ensure our own survival? How do we plan to put food on the table, to keep this roof over our heads? Can we create a safe and meaningful space for friends and loved ones, a space that is a haven, away from this crazy chaotic world we live in? Who will we have to become, what will we gain, what will we lose?

They say when you find the person that you want to spend the rest of your life with, you can’t wait for the rest of your life to begin. Well, the rest of our lives are here, every second, every moment.

They may be alone and the walls may be bare but they have each other, and in that, despite the pains and struggles, perhaps they are richer and more fortunate than most others, and perhaps for that they should be thankful, they should be grateful, and in the eloquence of silence, their thoughts begin to blend, everything and nothing become one and the same, and a wave of contentment washes over them.

Life is short and harsh but if you have someone to spend it with, someone who you are willing to argue with, suffer with, to annoy, and to bear it with, what more do you ever really need?

Dreams, dreams, dreams. They will be more than they imagine, and perhaps less, too. She sings and he writes and the world passes them by, and perhaps this time it’s totally okay. What is the world, anyway, but for what we perceive of it, and while there’s a world out there waiting to be explored, there’s also a world right here to be built together, a world of our own.

What more do you ever really need? Comfort and solace and quiet bliss.