If Mr Wong hadn't taken a step back into the doorway of his shop, he would have been flattened as Ethan hurtled by. 'Sorry!' his neighbour's grandson yelled over his shoulder as he disappeared down the street. Despite feeling like he'd just been slapped in the face, respect for his elders was ingrained in Ethan.
'Maya! Please! Wait!' he cried. But it wasn't until the next intersection that he finally caught up with her. Unwilling to let him see the tears in her eyes, she initially refused to face him.
'Maya, I didn't think he'd ... I'm so sorry ... I don't know what's the matter with him,' Ethan stammered, still coming to terms with the fact that, in the course of a few seconds, the sense of hope and excitement he felt at the possibility of helping his grandfather had turned to such shame and anger.
'It's OK,' she replied, gathering her composure and turning to look him in the eye. 'He comes from a different generation. They don't mean anything by it.'
And it wasn't the use of the word gwei-mui that had hurt her - that was a common expression in Hong Kong - it was the intent behind it. 'You should hear how some people talk about foreigners in Britain,' she continued.
Ethan knew she was just trying to protect his, as well as her own, pride, and at that moment, as he took her in his arms, he realised what a challenge it would be to justify her faith in him.
Mr Wong had entered his friend's shop to find out what was wrong with Ethan, but now it was Grandad he regarded with incredulity. 'You asked him what he was doing with a gwei-mui?'