It came as a blunt message on my phone. ‘A passenger on Flight AB453 has tested positive for COVID-19. As a traveller on this service, please isolate yourself for fourteen days.’

No further information. Was I sitting near or beside the infected passenger? I had no way of knowing, but there was enough information in the media – too much perhaps –  for me to know why I shouldn’t leave my unit for the next two weeks. I felt well; after years of travelling for my job I rarely even suffered jetlag.

On day two I opened my second floor unit window to hear a man berating Mei, a young woman of Chinese descent who lived in the opposite unit block. “You people brought this virus here,” he bellowed, “go back to where you belong!” He added a string of powerful expletives.

“Leave her alone,” I yelled. “It’s not her fault. She’s lived here all her life.”

The bully looked up, offered another round of expletives, spat on the ground in front of Mei, then turned and stomped away.

Mei looked up at me, put her hands together and bowed before scurrying through the front door of her building.

I’d lived across from her for five years and loved her for at least four of them. Sometimes we passed in the street but I was too shy to utter more than hello or a similar greeting. Mei seemed equally introverted. “One day I’ll speak to her,” I told myself but never summoned the courage.

That afternoon, I heard a gentle tap on my door and the sound of quickly retreating footsteps. I opened it to find a cane basket, covered with a gingham cloth, and a posy of violets.

Inside the basket I found fresh fruit and vegetables, dainty home-baked cakes and a fortune cookie. I snapped it open to reveal a note – A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

From my window I spotted Mei looking across at me from her small balcony garden. I waved. She smiled. Our journey had begun.