It is another week before I hear anything from Shefali. Her client comes through and I get an interview.

With her reference, I get the job of course. It is pretty much the same chores as a maid. Only difference is instead of cleaning other people's houses, I have to clean the litters of drunk men and women along with waitressing. The money is slightly better, not a lot. I earn more if I work the midnight shift, which I tell them I will think about.

But it is not only money which motivates me. Riverside Hotel is a posh place. I can totally believe that celebrities do frequent the place. I don't have a lot of hope that one of the rich and famous will ever notice me in my dowdy form, but maybe someone who is not so rich and famous, but slightly better than a desi daru dukandar?

I meet him on the second month of my new job. As the hotel is closer to the Airport, a lot of foreigners check in for layovers. Some stay for a few days, some longer. They mostly attend the normal dinner shift but a few prefer the peace of the midnight buffet. I have finally decided to take on this shift for the pay and I get my first glimpse of him on my second night.

At first glance he doesn't seem like a foreigner. He has almost the same colouring of that of a fair Indian man, slightly taller than the average male, with black hair and black eyes. I noticed he wasn't, in fact, an Indian, when he spoke to me.

I was on waitress duty that night. It is the middle of the week, so the midnight buffet is not at all crowded. Apart from a group of IT professionals, there is only one man sitting at a quiet corner.

I notice him as he leaves his table and comes to serve himself dessert from the buffet. He surveys the spread, then looks around for assistance. Finally, his gaze finds me.

I was standing at the counter, really counting minutes before my shift would end so I could go home and finally rest my aching feet. Another drawback of working here. It takes a toll on the soles.

I watch him walking towards the counter where I am standing, every movement controlled. Coming to a halt in front of me, with the counter in between us, he asks me, "Do you have coffee?"

I thanked my stars that I had at least completed my high school, otherwise working in a place like that would have been impossible. I had basic understanding of the English language, I could read and write passably. And I was working on the speaking part by watching lots of Hollywood movies. In fact, it had become our favourite pastime, me and Shefali spent the quiet afternoons in the salon watching movies on our cell phones after I return from my morning chore of being housemaid.

Of course, I wasn't proficient enough then to place his accent. Smiling politely at him I inform him regretfully that coffee isn't served in the midnight buffet. But if he wanted, he could order room service.

He doesn't say anything and stands there; just staring at me.

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