thin line

He leaned in, yet her face tilted ever so slightly so that their lips wouldn't lock. She didn't dare. Not when they wouldn't be able to see each other again. She couldn't bear to let her heart free to love a dead end. He held her hand, and proceeded to kiss her fingers. He could still smell the belacan in her fingers, probably from the hours spent grinding that prawn paste in the kitchen with her mom. He loved that smell.

He turned to the other side to sleep, not letting her see the single tear rolling from his eyes. She put her arm around his waist, and he gripped it tightly, knowing that this would be the last.

---

The agreement in 1909 had taken effect, and they were never to see each other again. But he was desperate. He left his shirt from that night unwashed, because it still had the scent of vanilla that she always had in her hair.

"Into the jungles I will go," he thought to himself. "I will cross the border, in the deep bamboo jungles where the patrol guards will not see me."

Off he went, on a journey that would take two months. He lived off the wild tapioca in the jungle, and water from the streams.

And when he finally arrived, he saw her, laying motionless on the ground, cup still in her hand.