after combing the area for a good, uncrowded place at tea time on a thursday, aisaadhi and i have settled on solite. greenzone was too packed, so was gloria jeans, but solite is pretty chill for this time of the day. at the tenth floor, only a couple of tables are taken plus it’s airconditioned. we take our seats and wait for alibe who is busy chasing an old friend down on the road.

aisaadhi and i haven’t met properly in years. maybe you might recall her from way back – from the very first post where we paid a visit to the maldive kitchen with her partner alibe.

‘where’s the bugger now, btw?’ i ask her.

‘i’ll check,’ she says and begins to text.

‘is he lost?’ i say. ‘does he know this place?’

‘relax, he’s a big boy,’ says aisaadhi. ‘so what have you been doing?’

‘this and that,’ i tell her.

‘nothing interesting?’

‘well, i am working on a new project.’

‘ooh, what is it?’

‘i’ll tell you later, i don’t wanna jinx it,’ i say.

‘why did you tell me you’re working on something then?’

‘you asked.’

‘excuse me, but have you decided?’ asks a server.

‘i’ll get an iced capuccino,’ i tell him.

he looks at me very apologetically.

‘i’m sorry sir, the lavazza machine is broken so we can’t give you that item.’

that item. is that phrase sri lankan? or indian?

‘do you have nescafe?’ i ask.

‘yes sir.’

‘can you make it with nescafe then? and give me a good discount?’ i look at aisaadhi who is grinning.

‘sure sir,’ says the server smiling. ‘i am not sure about the discount.’

‘that’s ok,’ i tell him.

aisaadhi asks for the same but with extra coffee.

we talk for a bit and then look out the window. the light is golden and hulhumale’s buildings glow in the distance. even the hiyaa towers look less foreboding.

‘hey hey,’ says someone. it’s alibe, and he’s sweating like a wrestler.

‘what’s up with you? why’re you all sweaty?’ i ask.

‘i went to gloria jeans by mistake. then i went up on the rooftop here,’ he explains.

‘too much time away from home, huh?’ i say.

‘too much,’ he says. ‘what did you get? high tea?’

‘hoity,’ says aisaadhi. i chuckle.

o, how’s sydney?’ i ask him. ‘my friend went over to watch pearl jam recently, you know?’

‘oh i didn’t want to see pearl jam,’ says alibe. ‘i saw eddie vedder in this hillbilly outfit and i thought no way i’m going to see THAT!’

‘i think he wants to be like springsteen,’ i say.

‘the boss,’ alibe grins. ‘good luck, ed.’

they start playing barbie girl over the speakers.

‘isn’t that aqua?’ asks alibe.

‘yep,’ says aisaadhi.

‘aren’t they swedish?’ alibe asks.

‘dunno, but some crazy bands came out of scandinavia,’ i say. ‘like michael learns to rock.’

‘haha, they came to sydney a while ago,’ alibe tells me. ‘seems michael is still learning to rock.’

then comes a song by the vengaboys.

‘my god,’ says aisaadhi. ‘it’s like they know we’re 90s kids.’

alibe’s mint tea arrives. he puts the teabag in the water with most of the string still in the bag.

‘no,’ says aisaadhi, leaning over. ‘like THIS!’ she says and pulls on the string.

‘huh,’ says alibe. ‘how was i supposed to know?’

then backstreet boys’ ‘as long as you love me’ comes on.

‘i had a friend who was nuts about nick carter,’ i tell them. ‘and every night she prayed that he would convert to islam so she could marry him.’

nick carter was the young, blonde teen idol of the 90s. girls went crazy over him. maybe because he looked like one.

‘but she mustn’t have really listened to his song then,’ says alibe looking very intense. ‘to him, it doesn’t matter at all who you are, where you’re from, or what you did. she didn’t love him like he would have loved her. it wouldn’t have mattered at all if she did.’

aisaadhi rolls her eyes.

‘how’s your tea?’ i ask alibe.

‘it’s a mint tea, hence minty,’ he replies.

can’t begrudge an older man his silly wordplay.

soon, alibe pays for us (being the great, generous man he is) and we go down the road to where he’s parked his motorbike.

‘don’t you notice the young sri lankan office women on the road these days?’ i ask alibe.

‘how do you know they’re sri lankan?’ he asks.

‘the umbrellas,’ i say.

‘it’s hard to tell the difference in this weather,’ he says. ‘everyone carries an umbrella.’

‘they also have frizzy hair,’ i tell him and aisaadhi laughs.

‘that’s enough racism for today,’ she tells me, climbing on the bike behind alibe. i watch them until they disappear from view, near the shrine of abul barakaath. then i turn towards home thinking all is well with the world.