I return to this majestic resort with a promised opportunity offered by Saint that I could make full use of the stay and would pay for my spa if I wanted to. But I want nothing else except to lounge on any of the room's furniture that is comfortable enough to place my head to rest.

As we enter into his tidied suite, I stow my backpack into the luggage compartment and take out my blue in-flight blanket from the bag before settling myself on the sofa next to the king size bed.

"What are you doing?" Saint looks at me in astonishment.

"I'm setting up my sleeping spot," I answer, placing the cushions by each side of the sofa like a fort.

"What's wrong with that one?" he points at the bed.

"You'll be sleeping there. I'll take the sofa," I recline myself to the sofa and cover my lower body with my blanket.

"The bed is big enough for the two of us. It's not like we've never slept together before."

"It was a different arrangement back then, Saint. We're not kids anymore," I reply.

He lets out a suppressing laugh and pulls away my blanket. "You take the bed, I'm fine with the sofa."

"The sofa can't accommodate your height. You'll sleep well on the bed."

"Please, I'm not in the mood for another argument," he pleads to which I eventually surrender and hop on the bed.

"Aren't you supposed to be ready for the run?" I ask, pulling the hotel duvet up to my torso and wrap my blanket around my shoulder.

He looks at his Tissot wrist watch and grins slyly. "I've a couple more hours to spare, we can chill and chat if we want."

"We can start by telling me what happened to Anita," I initiate the talk, but he winces to this topic. "Look, I don't intend to poke my nose in other people's private matters, but I can tell you have issues and I'm here for you."

"Why should I solicit for emotional support from someone who doesn't need my help?"

"Saint, what actually happened?" I ignore his cynical question.

"What's it to you?" he pouts.

"We can do this all day," I grumble at him. "You can either spit it out or ignore my pestering until you're done and sick of me."

"I'm never sick of you, I cherish you," he chuckles, sliding on the bed next to me and props his upper body with his elbow. "What's your interest in it, anyway?"

I shrug, tucking my blanket tighter like it's an armour, picturing that he might pounce on me at any point of this conversation. "It helps to tell someone your issues, you know, let off some steam if you must."

"Does it?" he laughs, rolls his head backwards. "If you're dying to know, me and Anita aren't physically seeing each other for months now."

"What's wrong? She's busy?"

"Let's just say we're losing our spark since she's on that reality TV show she signed up for," he explains. "That show took so much of her time and energy until there was nothing left for me. She's no longer the same person I fell in love with."

"Well, try to set a date and revisit that place where you two first met. You know, to rekindle that moment," I suggest.

"This is where I first met her, Penang Marathon 2016," he declares.

I mouth an "O" to sink in. "So, this event is supposed to do that?"

"Initially, yeah," he exhales, lying flat back on the bed next to me. "She's not really keen for this trip, but I pressed on. It seems that she put her career first before me."

"She'll set her priority right after you two get married. Give her some time," I assure him.

Saint chuckles to this idea. "She's not a marrying type, Sofia. She even dislikes children, let alone having one. She hates it when I give her the idea."

I mull over to his explanation. I don't know Anita personally, but I would understand her decisions of not having a family of her own and raise children at this stage. Career mom is one of the hardest roles known to mankind. It's a tireless pursuit of handling office pressures while keeping the household thriving at the same time, something that Anita might want to avoid at the moment before she's ready to settle down and dive into motherhood.

I turn to Saint who's also having his thoughts wandered off, gazing through the ceiling. Then, I carefully think of a more comforting, practical advice for him as a friendly gesture.

"You know, if reigniting that spark doesn't work, then you just need to find other ways to let love grow," I opine. "Things will turn out fine if you love her unconditionally, even when she'll grow to be that nagging old sag whom you wish to strangle every day."

"Like you?"

"I'm talking about Anita," I retort to his impish comment. "You still love her, right?"

"I love her unconditionally but things won't work if the feeling isn't mutual. I reckon she might have someone else behind my back. Someone less clingy or carefree like her, a total opposite of me."

An awkward silence.

I no longer have anything brilliant to soothe his melancholic heart. It just occurs to me that I'm not exactly a go to person for relationship advice and I believe Saint would agree to this. I feel regret for compelling him to pour out his problems to me when it doesn't help him that much in the end.

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Photo source - Erick Palacio via Unsplash