I don't love flying.

There's nothing normal about being forty thousand feet above sea level in a glorified sardine can.

I have two main fears, really. Firstly, that we'll simply fall out of the sky and plummet to our grizzly deaths, and secondly, that when we land the breaks will fail and we'll go thundering into a building, burst into flames and blow up -- of course, it doesn't help that I've seen the exact same thing unfold on a TV show about plane crashes.

But this never happens. (Touch wood.)

But what does always happen, is that the split-second the plane comes into contact with the ground, people jump up, practically leap and throw themselves at the storage compartments for the start of the great bag jostle. I've never understood the urgency. I noticed that a few of them look positively desperate; I suspected they were the smokers who would've sold their souls to Satan for half a cigarette. I didn't feel physically strong enough to fight for my bag or stand in line for ten minutes while I waited for the doors to open, so I just sat there. Goth Guy was already up and I wanted to say something to him, but he was too far away.

The interior of the airport was surprising, I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I certainly hadnât imagined such an impressive, modern building. I glanced at the clock on the wall and reset my watch to local time. A hotel shuttle was fetching me in an hour and a half; so I had plenty of time to get my bags, go through customs and maybe even squeeze in some duty free shopping. Things were looking up, but then I got to the luggage carousel.

What is it about airports that make people lose all sense of propriety, politeness, patience and any thing else that resembles a manner? People shoved, they pushed, they elbowed each other and they acted as if getting their bag one second before the guy next to them was more important than finding a cure for cancer. I saw Damian through the marauding crowd, and knew that this would be my last chance to say something to him.

I tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey!" I smiled apologetically. "I never got a chance to thank you for helping me with the Coke." I was trying to find an indirect way of saying it without causing more offense.

"No prob." He looked at me again with those black eyes; they really were startling. "I'm sorry for walking away like that, I just didn't expect that."

I jumped in. "No, I'm sorry. That was out of line, I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay. You just caught me off guard. It's not something I usually talk to people about."

His candour surprised me and I was about to say something about his right to privacy when five security guards interrupted us. I smiled at them, but they didn't look friendly. In fact, they circled like vultures around a carcass. I had a very bad feeling about this.

"Can I see your passports?"The guy with a face like a bulldog asked.

I pulled mine out immediately and handed it over, but Damian objected.

"This is so typical. It's discrimination. I'm not giving it to you."

What was he talking about? Was I missing something? I looked from him to the Bulldog and back again.

Bulldog growled, "Give me your passport." His eyes blazed with aggression.

Damian stared back at him indignantly, "No."

The tension was building and the other vultures stepped forward, pecking at us with their evil eyeballs.

"What's going on?" I was suddenly very nervous.

Damian turned to me, "What's going on here is a clear case of ignorance and discrimination."

"But they're just asking for our passports," I offered.

"No they're not!" Damian was adamant.

Now I was really confused and the vultures came even closer.

"Give me your passport," Bulldog barked.

Damian was defiant."No!"

And then it happed. And it happened so damn fast. They swooped, they grabbed, they handcuffed and they dragged us across the room.

"Hey!" I was screaming. "What are you doing?"

There was a lot of loud angry shouting in Thai, and several more vulture guards came lunging over. And then, for the third time that day, people stared at me. I recognised some of the faces from the plane; many of them were nodding at each other with knowing looks. Their suspicions about me had been confirmed.

I told you, Tony. She's a total criminal.

"Please, my lift is picking me up just now. I have to get my bags and get to my hotel. Just tell me what's happening?" No response. They didn't even look at me. At least if I knew what was going on, I could have defended myself, and proved to them that I was innocent of whatever crime they thought I'd committed. No such luck, they dragged us into a small, miserable looking room. The type of room that hardened criminals are kept in.

Nothing was making sense!

I'm a lawyer. I know my rights. And my father and sister-in-law are both very powerful lawyers and if I phone them and tell them what's going on, they'll be on the next flight over here and you'll all be in trouble." I was over being nice. I took out my phone and started dialling. But before I could press a single button, it was whipped away from me and taken out of the room. I heard a loud click and swung around to see my suitcase being pried open and rummaged through.

"Hey, what are you doing? Those are my clothes!" I glanced at Damian, who looked totally unperturbed as someone started tearing his backpack apart.

"Damian!" My voice was demanding. "What's going on?"

And his response was totally unexpected.

"They think we're drug smugglers."

"What!" I shrieked. "That's ridiculous. Why?"

"I told you, discrimination. It's happened to me before. They see someone with a tattoo and black clothes and assume."

Something red flew past my face. It was my underwear! I went crimson with embarrassment as my lace panties went flying through the air and landed on the table just inches from Damian. I shot up, practically slid across the table and grabbed them, which only ended up drawing more attention to the itsy-bitsy red things.

He looked up at me and smiled, which made my blood boil.

"This is all your fault," I was furious.

"How is this my fault?"

"Well, obviously, I'm only guilty by association. I was talking to you and you're the one who looks like a drug smuggler."

I could see this statement hit a nerve and he jumped out of his seat pointing at me. "I hate to break this to you Lilly, but you're the one who looks like she's smuggling drugs. In fact, you look like a junkie on a very bad come down in those pyjamas, with your black eyes and red face. You're wearing your slippers for heaven's sake, and your hair looks like it hasnâÂÂt been brushed since the turn of the millennium. I'm the one who's probably guilty by association."

My heart dropped. I was so offended. But I also knew he was right. I did look terrible and if the roles had been reversed, I too would have stared at the girl on the plane wearing her pyjamas and slippers and throwing up. I slunk back into my seat, devastated, and watched them pull my suitcase to pieces. But when it became clear they weren't going to find anything, they left. I was happy they'd gone, but I wasn't happy to be alone in a room with Damian.

And so we sat in silence and waited. And waited. And waited.

It was awkward.

I was embarrassed.

And I was angry.

I could feel him looking at me from time to time, but I refused to shift my gaze. I also refused to cry, which was difficult, because the tears were close to the surface now. At some stage I glanced at my watch and realised weâÂÂd been there for two hours -- so much for my hotel transfer.

After what seemed like another hour, the door finally opened and two new vulture guards walked in; one male, one female. The guy immediately grabbed Damian and dragged him out, while the female one approached me looking very suspicious and wearing a latex glove.

Not a chance! Not a chance in hell! I jumped out of my seat and ran to the other end of the room, but when the glove followed me, I flipped. And for the second time in two days, I lost it.

I screamed and flapped my arms. âÂÂPlease, I am not a drug addict or smuggler and any resemblance to one is because I have had the shittiest two days of my life. I mean total s-h-i-t.â I spelled it out for added drama. âÂÂCrap. The worst, crappiest, crap day you can ever crapping imagine.â Like I said, I lost it, âÂÂYesterday was supposed to be my wedding and my fiancé decided it would be fun to leave me at the altar in front of 500 guests. Fun right? Yay for me. Whoo-hoo!â Yes, I definitely lost it. âÂÂThe only reason I look like this is because IâÂÂve been feeling like a mad cow for the past twenty-four hours, barely able to move off the couch, or stop eating sugar! IâÂÂve probably put on 10kg's in the last day. And guess what? This trip is meant to be my honeymoon, and do you see a husband anywhere. NO! That guyâÂÂs not my husband, I donâÂÂt even know him. This was the worst decision of my life coming here. Clearly IâÂÂm off my rocker. So please, please I beg you, don't stick that thing up myâ¦!âÂÂ

And then I started to cry. I couldnâÂÂt hold back, and I hated myself for showing that kind of vulnerability to a total stranger with a latex glove. The woman looked at me with a queer look and then called out to someone else, in something that sounded likeâ¦

 âÂÂâ¦Nee, ha ya, waâ¦âÂÂ

Another woman rushed into the room and looked at me with horror. She shook her head violently and spoke.

âÂÂBastard,â she said in her thick Thai accent.

âÂÂI beg your pardon?â Was she talking about Damian?

âÂÂHe left you on the wedding,â her English was broken. âÂÂYou were in dress?âÂÂ

I nodded. The two women said something to each other and shook their heads again.

âÂÂThis happen to my friend. We say he was bad man. She not listen. But better you know what bad man he is before wedding,â she was right. I nodded. And then another woman joined them; clearly I was speaking some kind of universal language here. Suddenly we were sisters, bonded together in our collective disgust and disproval of menâÂÂs actions.

âÂÂYou must find someone else. He not worth time! You very pretty.â Said the new woman whoâÂÂd joined in. One of them handed me a tissue and then a lot of âÂÂtuttingâ and âÂÂoohingâ and head shaking took place.

I smiled; it was the first time that day. One of the women even brought me a chocolate -- clearly chocolate was the universal currency for broken heartedness. And then we chatted. I was more than happy to throw the word âÂÂbastardâ and âÂÂassholeâ around a few times, it made me feel better and my attentive audience lapped it up, they nodded, shook their heads and said some loud things in Thai. After a few much-needed minutes of female bonding, and a lot of expletives, the ladies said I could go free. We all hugged each other, and threw a few more bad words around for the hell of it.

I was relieved to be free, but it was also a massive relief to finally get out of my pyjamas and into some normal clothes. I pulled my pyjamas off quickly and slipped into a pair a jeans and a white T-shirt. I glanced around the room and thatâÂÂs when I noticed that the wall behind me was nothing more than two partitions pushed together. There was a large gap between them and I approached it. I pressed my eye to the gap and there sat Damian, looking at me.

Three questions ran through my mind;

One, had he seen me get undressed, two, was I wearing a G-String, and three, had he heard everything IâÂÂd said?

I certainly wasn't going to wait around for him to answer any of those, and I quickly left.

I was hit by a wall of humidity when I walked out of the airport. The air was hot and sticky and I wished IâÂÂd had the foresight to wear something other than my jeans. I took in my surroundings. Everything around me was so foreign, I mean, I knew I was in a foreign country, but really, it was extremely foreign. I couldnâÂÂt decipher a single sign, or understand a word, and it suddenly dawned on me.

I was really here. Really.

In Thailand.

On my honeymoon.

Alone.

IâÂÂd never done anything on my own before and I felt very out of my depth and comfort zone. To make matters worse, IâÂÂd also missed my hotel transfer. There was a row of cars with yellow lights across the street, which I assumed were taxis. But I certainly wasnâÂÂt going to take a taxi alone, I was from South Africa after all, we donâÂÂt do that there! You just never know whoâÂÂll be behind that wheel, they could be an axe-murder or a pervert and you might just find yourself the subject matter of a programme on the Crime Channel.

I dug in my handbag for the hotel details, found the number and called. But the next available shuttle wasnâÂÂt until 10pm. I looked at my watch and it was only 7pm. What was I going to do here for three hours? All I wanted to do was bath, wash my hair, soak my face and brush my teeth. Crap!

 âÂÂHi.â Â

A voice from behind made me jump and I was surprised to find Damian standing there with a strange look on his face. God, I hoped that look didnâÂÂt mean IâÂÂve seen you in your underwear, lady. I gave him a half-hearted nod, but all I could think about was what direction IâÂÂd been facing when IâÂÂd bent down to pull my jeans up.

"I need to apologise. It was wrong of me to say that stuff about you looking like a heroin addict. I heard what you said in there, and IâÂÂm very sorry. If IâÂÂd known I would never have..."

I cut him off abruptly. I didnâÂÂt want to talk about it. "It's okay. Let's leave it. I insulted you and you insulted me. Now weâÂÂre even."

Our eyes met and I held his gaze.

"Deal," he said, extending a hand for me to shake. I took it and was surprised to find it was pleasantly soft, not that I was expecting him to have scales and horns and warts... or maybe I was.

"So whereâÂÂre you going?" Damian asked.

"Nowhere right now, my hotel shuttle canâÂÂt pick me up for another three hours."

"Why donâÂÂt you just take a taxi?" HeâÂÂd pulled out a bottle of water and started slugging it down. Some of it missed his mouth and ran onto his shirt. He poured water into his hand and ran it over his face and hair, obviously in an attempt to cool down. His wet hair was now slicked back and for the first time I could actually see his whole face. He wasâ¦Gorgeous? (Insert multiple question marks here)

WTF? (Insert some more)

Okay, now I knew I was definitely losing my mind. (Insert more italicised words until I can make sense of this)

I don't like guys like this. At all! I like big, tall muscular, blonde jocks who wear Polo shirts, Lacoste shoes and pastels. Guys who play tennis and wear Calvin Klein underwear. I like guys with tans, neat hair, perfect teeth, shoes without holes, shirts without holes, body parts without holes and no tattoos. I hate tattoos. Damian was none of these things. He had a small build, was pale, his hair desperately needed a trim and his clothes looked like they came from a thrift store.Â

I forced my brain to snap back to reality.

"¦I donâÂÂt trust taxis."

 He smiled at this.

"And where are you going?"

Damian shrugged. "Not sure. I think I am pretty stranded."

"What you mean?"

"I had to give that guy all my money to avoid theâ¦um, intimate search he was about to perform."

"You could probably get some more at your hotel."

"I donâÂÂt have a hotel."

"So where are you sleeping?"

Damian shrugged again. "Not sure, I was going to go to a backpackers lodge, but now I guess I'm sleeping on the beach until I can get more cash."

He was making absolutely no sense.

"Why don't you just go to an ATM and draw some?" It seemed so obvious to me.

"I don't have a card."

"What?" I looked at this guy with the clothes and the backpack and I wondered what on earth his story was. Who the hell didn't have a bankcard? That was like not having a Facebook profile or Twitter account. It was madness.

"I'm backpacking. I just did Europe and moved around from place to place earning money from odd jobs, and now I'm going to explore the East."

This guy was completely nuts.

"Anyway," he spoke again. "I hope you don't have to wait too long for your shuttle, Lilly." He gave me one last smile, turned and started walking away from me.

I watched him walk away and a thought started bashing about in my brain. I didn't like the thought. I didn't like it one little bit.

No, no, no, no, no! Don't say it, Lilly! Don't you dare bloody say it!

"You can stay with me." The words came tumbling out of my mouth and I regretted it immediately.

Damian turned around with a shocked look on his face.

"I mean, just for one night, while you figure out what you're going to do for money. I have this big suite," I rolled my eyes and scoffed, "Deluxe Honeymoon Suite. And it's got a separate lounge area, so..."

Damian stepped forward and his eyes met mine with such intensity that I felt unnerved.

"You sure?"

"No, I'm not sure, but what the hell, I guess." I shrugged my shoulders, and looked around. "Besides, you'd be doing me a bit of a favour, I really want to get to the hotel, and I don't want to take a taxi alone, so..."

He smiled that crooked smile at me again. He smiled a lot for someone who listened to Depeche Mode.

"Well, if I'd be helping you?" He strode out into the street and called a taxi with brazen confidence.

God, this was a bad idea. The worst idea. Ever. But it was too late!

Â