"My husband has a tie just like that," Su said one evening, her voice trembling like a cello string."And my wife has a handbag just like yours," Chow replied.

The realization was a cold realization: their spouses were together.

It started with a look in the hallway. A brush of shoulders on the stairs as she carried her metal tiffin tin to buy noodles. She wore high-collared cheongsams, floral patterns that looked like armor, every button done up to the chin, keeping her secrets tucked away. He wore sharp suits and carried a quiet sadness that smelled of cigarette smoke and old books.