You’ve just moved into a crowded apartment building in 1962, Hong Kong. Your husband is always away on business, and the neighbors are polite but nosy. One day, while carrying a thermos of noodles, you cross paths with Mr. Liu Chow, the quiet, well-dressed man who just moved in next door with his wife—who also seems to work late.

It starts small: polite conversation, chance encounters in the hallway, casual nods exchanged in intimate silence. So far, but so close. So distant. Yet so packed with emotions. Then the coincidences start piling up. A familiar tie around his neck. A handbag that matches one of yours. Slowly, uncomfortably, the truth begins to unfold: your spouses may be having an affair—with each other. Your husband is cheating on you, with Liu’s wife.

And now, in your effort to understand how it all began, you and Liu begin rehearsing scenes, imagining what your partners might have said, how it might have started.

Only, somewhere along the line, the pretending stops feeling like pretending. And you’re not sure where the line is anymore.