If you’ve been following Harold and Emily’s journey, you can catch up with the previous letter here.
And if this is your first visit, welcome. Their story began with a chance meeting in London, long before either of them knew how far apart they would have to travel.
I stepped back into the rain and began walking again.
Not because I knew where I was going.
Simply because I needed to be gone before anyone else opened the door.
I glanced at my watch.
It was almost nine that evening. The Hong Kong streets had begun filling for the night despite the weather. Shopkeepers were still serving customers beneath their striped awnings. Delivery men pushed handcarts through puddles gathered against the dirty kerbs, and somewhere ahead, a tram announced itself with two measured bells before disappearing behind the traffic.
Hong Kong still had work to do.
I could not say the same.
The rain never settled into anything heavy. It drifted between the buildings without ever quite stopping. Steam escaped from bamboo baskets outside small cafés, carrying the smell of fresh buns and tea into the street. Diners stood beneath striped awnings finishing late suppers while delivery men pushed handcarts through puddles gathered against the dirty kerbs.
No one looked at me twice.
Why would they?
To everyone else I was simply another man walking home in the rain.
I found shelter beneath the awning of a tea house not yet open.
The wooden benches were still damp, though one corner beneath the roof had stayed dry.
I sat down. Almost without thinking, I reached inside my coat.
The letter was softer now.
The folds no longer held their shape as neatly as they had in London.
I am writing to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.
I read no further.
There seemed little point.
The words had not changed.
By the time I reached the hotel, the lobby had begun to fill with guests escaping the weather.
My suitcase was already waiting behind the reception desk where I had left instructions before setting out that morning.
The young clerk recognised me at once.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening.”
He reached behind him for the brass room key and passed it to me over the desk.
“I trust everything has been satisfactory with your room, sir?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He nodded and began writing.
I hesitated.
“One question, if I may.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“If I were to need to stay a bit longer than planned, would that present any difficulty?”
He looked up.
“None at all, sir.”
“We settle accounts weekly. Quite a number of our guests alter their arrangements once they arrive.”
He smiled.
“It happens more often than you might think.”
“Thank you.”
I took the key and started towards the stairs.
My room overlooked a narrow street where washing still hung between neighbouring buildings despite the rain.
I removed my jacket and loosened my tie.
Then I reached into my inside pocket.
The proposal letter was still there.
I unfolded it just enough to be certain it had not become creased by the rain.
It had survived the journey rather better than its purpose.
I folded it again and slipped it carefully into my suitcase.
There was enough money.
For now.
The return ticket could be changed.
Hotels could be extended.
All perfectly manageable things.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
For a long while I did nothing at all.
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More from Dorie Snow/雪多丽 (White Rabbit Musings)
More from me?
Nothing truly leaves — it just changes how it stays.
All artwork courtesy of NDjin Gallery
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