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KUZOO’S DEVOTED LISTENERS had a soft spot for the youngest contestants in the Symphony of Love. With Lhaki and TT disqualified, two little girls emerged as the top vote-getters: a ten-year-old named Kiba Yangzom captured first prize, and an eleven-year-old named Kinley Choki Dorji placed second. Kinley said she’d bring a friend to the Zone as her “date.” Kiba brought her big sister. The Bhutan Times headline that week proclaimed “Two Little Kuzoo Idols Are Here!”

Sir Tenzin decided that, under the circumstances, a celebratory party for all of the Kuzoo staff and SOL volunteers was in order. He cut a deal with the owner of the Zone to serve up Cokes and snacks to all Kuzoo volunteers who stopped in on the evening of Valentine’s Day. In the end, everyone did win.

A culture of dining out was uncommon in Bhutan, particularly among young people, who rarely had much pocket money. The Zone was a treat for all, and it was the only place in town where you could get a real hamburger, with fries. (The Swiss Bakery sold small, spicy meat patties on rolls and called those hamburgers, but that was a Bhutanese interpretation.) At night, the owners of the Zone dimmed the lights and illuminated the disco ball for those who might be inspired to dance. The establishment’s crowning feature was its karaoke machine, one of only two in Thimphu.

Thujee emceed the evening as if it were a live broadcast on Kuzoo, working the room and sounding a bit like Phil Donahue, though he’d have had no idea who that was. He had the hyperbolic phrasing of broadcast down cold. “Let’s give a hand to our generous sponsors here at the Zone,” he announced. “The Grammy this year shouldn’t go to anyone from Hollywood. It has to go to the young ladies who are singing here today. Give them a big hand!”

The disco ball sparkled; hoots and hollers and clapping hands egged Thujee on.

“And now, everyone, give a warm Kuzoo welcome to Kiba Yangzom, winner of the grand prize of the Symphony of Love. She’s going to entertain us with the hit ‘Where Is the Love’ by the Black Eyed Peas! Take it away, Kiba!”

Thujee handed her the microphone. The karaoke machine clicked into gear, and the tiny girl shrank into her chair, overwhelmed at having an audience. Someone behind the bar trained a spotlight on her. Once she started singing, her confidence grew, her voice becoming a bit louder. Soon, everyone at the Zone joined in. From the corner of my eye, I spotted one of my expat friends, Ed, the golf pro from Nova Scotia, searching the darkened room to find me. I waved him over to join me at my table and as I did, as the whole room swayed to the music, my heart swelled.

I might never see any of these people again after I left Bhutan and I wasn’t likely to accomplish anything grand during my time here. Or anywhere else, for that matter. I might not ever find the big love that had eluded me, and by now, it was pretty clear I wouldn’t have kids of my own; raising a child alone was out of the question, financially and logistically. But here, all around me, was love. Nothing mattered more. Not the romantic kind—that was nice, but it wasn’t forever. What was important, and abundant, was the love that filled the room right now. No Valentine’s Day I’d experienced had been as wondrous as this, so full and beautiful.

In a corner, Pema, Ngawang, and Pink sat sipping sugary wine coolers. They’d gone to Pink’s apartment to change after work, and were heading next to Club Destiny, the nightclub where Pink moonlit as a deejay. This was the first time I’d seen them out of their national garb, dressed up for “party night.” They looked like pretty twenty-something gals anywhere who were ready to hit the town: tight T-shirts embellished with bling, low-rise jeans, smears of unnecessary makeup on their pristine skin.

Despite their festive getups, they radiated glumness. I knew the syndrome: on this couple-crazy holiday, neither Pema nor Ngawang had boyfriends, and Pink was going through a divorce. The last time they’d gone out