Location: Diplomatic Suite, Stamford Plaza Hotel— I notice remnants of Hollywood star-courting charm — a photo-worthy, full-bodied mural detailed with poppies and water lilies courts my room. “A little to the left — stunning”, I fantasise about directing stars once lapse at the cause of time, reminded, love made king — Ana — posing outside our Crème brûlée-styled Presidential Suite. Time for dinner — descending from twenty-two, I admire the two levels below intertwined by the Gone-With-The-Wind staircase. Gliding through the marble foyer — the nostalgic romance echoes in the spacious high ceiling — on either side, the formation of opulent armchairs imbues an air of confidence to the seated, once exclusive only to those of official ranking. Warm, dimmed lights held by cast-iron arms, elaborately leafy, illuminate the way. The use of “Sir / Ma’am” is a protocol within this perimeter, along with the complimentary bottle of red I was offered in my room. ⸻ The indulgent backdrop, secondary only to my focus, is held by — a well-dressed lady in a fitted Crème coloured satin dress paired with black laced hands that rest on my shoulder — my evening confidant. Awaiting our meal, we find ourselves— Once more. —My Time with Ana