Amantes de Dubai

When I first arrived in Dubai, it was the fiercest heat of August. The moment I stepped out of the airport, a wall of humid air slammed into me; before half a minute had passed, sweat was already streaming down my body.

“I knew Dubai was hot, but this is absurd. And we still have to spend four years here in this weather!” Lian Pian was wearing a black camisole with only a light gauze cardigan over it. Right then, she was dragging her suitcase with one hand and fanning herself furiously with the gauze in the other, her pale shoulder flashing into view now and then.

Beside us, a Muslim man in white robes glanced over at her, his expression dark with displeasure, his brows nearly knotted together. I hurriedly pressed down Lian Pian’s restless hand and shook my head at her with my lips pursed.

“What is it?” she asked, baffled.

“Don’t forget where we are. This is Dubai. People can be punished here for kissing in public. Watch your words and your behavior.”

Only then did Lian Pian realize it. She immediately gathered her clothes properly and covered her shoulders. Seeing this, the man in white finally looked away, his expression easing a little.

Before coming to Dubai, I had already heard that religious rules here were extraordinarily strict, so I had not dared bring a single off-the-shoulder top or pair of shorts that rose above the knee. Lian Pian was not as cautious as I was; she packed whatever she liked and said that coming to Dubai meant enjoying a life of luxury. Even so, once she truly arrived, she had no choice but to rein in her fl