But once we were aboard the gondola, gliding along the smooth, silvery water, which reflected the tiny light crystals that glittered along the banks, my shoulders began to relax a little. Lost deep inside the beauty and marvel of the underwater city, I could easily forget the hidden menace behind it in the form of Marko’s siblings; or that, some eleven thousand metres above me, there were people who loved and missed me. As we drifted past the gleaming, white-walled city, past dwellings and restaurants and past other small boats and their passengers, Marko seemed increasingly nervous, and filled the awkward air between us with talk of architecture and vegetation. It was strange. If I was just a ‘friend’ then shouldn’t he be relaxed around me? Did this mean there was a possibility that he still harboured feelings for me? And that he wasn’t acting on those feelings purely out of respect for my freedom to choose, as his letter inviting me back to Marin had implied? Or was it because those feelings were gone and he was too polite to say so?
