The lettering has strange combinations of unknown letters but the floor numbers are Arabic. She presses 26.The elevator is mirrored, there seem to be ...a hundred two dimensional copies of her, all of them sag with their heads drooping, all clutch the brass rail, all lurch as the elevator starts up. Your eye is drawn to her pale white calves, reflected in all angles, her knees, one pushed forward against the hem of her skirt, and there's the flat of her stomach, demurely hidden by the knit of her. I offered her to drop home by car. She refused initially. But then as her son was sleepy, she agreed and soon we reached the car. Her son slept. She made him sleep on the rear seat and we started towards home. While on the way we talk about our daily routine, work and all.She was a housewife busy all day with her kid. I told about my work and all, we were friends now and exchanged our numbers. We reached her place, I helped her to drop her son at home as was loaded with her handbag and her. "Do you know the way to the station, Alexandre?" Yes, Chief, to the right and then straight on."Of course they ought to have gone to the left. They wasted seven or eight minutes in wandering through the streets and receiving contradictory instructions. When the motor pulled up at the station the train was whistling.Don Luis jumped out, rushed through the waiting-room, found the doors shut, jostled the railway officials who tried to stop him, and reached the platform.A train was about to start. While walking back I passed another guy on our floor, wearing only my boxers, and he acknowledged me with a head nod and a smirk. He thought it was the walk of shame, but little did he know I couldn’t pull the trigger.That night would haunt me for years to come. I would always think back and say to myself “what if?”. I was convinced that I would have at least done SOMETHING if presented the opportunity again.Fast forward a couple of years and our online chatting would commence again. It was.