He was fishing on the banks of the River Sitnica, at a spot he had loved since he was a boy. It was a beautiful, sunny day and Arta surprised him by arriving with a lunch of sandwiches, cakes, fruit and wine. They started to eat and drink, but soon they were touching each other, taking off their clothes. As they knelt face to face, slowly kissing, Lirim thought he would like to stay like this for a long time. But his desire grew stronger and he knew he wanted more than to kiss her, so he took Arta by the shoulders and gently pushed her to the ground, rolling himself on top of her in the same movement. And then, suddenly, a farmer came towards them shouting, ‘Hey, stop, this is private land.’ Lirim woke up. For a few moments, he was still in Kosovo, and happy to be so, though scared of the farmer he imagined to be shouting at him. Then he blinked his eyes open and realised amid the near darkness that he was at home, in London, in bed with Arta. He had no idea what time it was, somewhere between midnight, when they had fallen asleep, and 7 a.m., when his alarm would ring to get him up for work.
