I looked at the cars rushing through the crossroad below us. At the footbridge, a few people stood holding up real estate advertisements. “I can only meditate on the dance floor,” I said.

“Ha,” she laughed. “What a party animal you are.”

I couldn’t tell if she was being ironic. I thought it was pretty obvious to both of us that I was not a party animal. Her pho came before she finished my nails. As we ate we talked about different things. We talked about Hong Kong, Macau, the upcoming New Year’s Eve, how my family had moved from the mainland to the U.S. when I was a teenager, and what I thought of Hong Kong in comparison to New York. I assumed that she was a few years older than me and that she was working. But she didn’t tell me anything about herself. Before she left, she told me I should go to a club called Social Room on Saturday—to meditate. She might also be there.

I finished up my pho alone and replayed our conversation in my mind. I really hoped I had impressed her. I didn’t know why I cared, but I hoped I had said something witty and nothing stupid. I hoped I had shown an interest in her without being too obvious. I wasn’t sure if I had been trying to hit on her.

When I got back to my room I thought about how I spent more time remembering and imagining experiences than actually living them, and I really didn’t like that about myself. I looked through my window at the old people karaoke-ing in the street and thought that they were superior to me in this regard. I read until I fell asleep.

—Staff writer Tianxing V. Lan's column, "3AM Cinema Club," is a serialized work of fiction set in Hong Kong which follows the protagonist as he works to write a screenplay.