The restaurant had blue walls. It was March 2003, I had just finished an assignment in Eritrea, in the Horn of Africa. For some reason those blue walls made an impression. There she stood, talking to a handsome man in a suit. Her curly hair reached her waist. “If only one day I could meet a woman like that,” I thought. Too shy to approach her. A few days later she sat behind me in the plane back home. We started chatting. A house on fire. Now she sits a few meters away from me. My ring on her finger.
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