There were secrets shared between the pillows and sheets as the sun filtered through the curtains lighting up the coal in your eyes. A secret tale of a secret love that you whispered in my ears. A story threaded through entwined fingers and toes and the salt trail on your skin drying in the breeze of the ceiling fan. The musty, spicy smell of hunan rice and cigarettes impregnated the air adding flavour to the tale. It was a fable not of princes and princesses, but of you and me and a little bit of us.