Amidst the dwindling drizzle, the week trundled along and so did I. Talking to Hyraj hadn’t exactly revealed anything particularly amazing. Like, it didn’t really sound like she was madly in love with me? She loved parts of me, but loved me more than all of them together, which meant… what?

It wasn’t like she’d actually told me the parts she loved either. I guessed it was easier for her to see me as beautiful since there were a lot of people who looked like me here. That also meant I didn’t have to worry she was interested in me because I was “exotic” or anything weird like that. Well, I did come from another world, but she wasn’t asking me about where I came from.

Anyway, I wasn’t good at thinking, this time no different. All I really managed to do was make myself more confused than when I’d asked her. How she’d said it… there wasn’t anything special. We just spent time together and she fell in love.

And that didn’t make sense, not when I was right there with her the whole time? How could she fall in love while I had thought I was annoying her with all my pestering? Like, I hadn’t felt any… chemistry. Sure, I was happy to have someone around, felt comfortable around her, but it wasn’t like… we were always getting lost in each other’s eyes, leaning in for a kiss only to stop ourselves at the last moment. Those kinds of things that were always in romance movies. Even her book had similar things, like eyes meeting across the room and a burst of emotion telling them they had to meet.

Would both worlds really lie about that?

There were stories where the guy had to chase after the woman, but, even in those cases, it was like the woman liked him, but didn’t want to? It always had corny lines like: “I know you feel the same way I do,” and she wouldn’t outright deny it either. She’d say something like: “We can’t be together.” You always knew that was how she felt—otherwise, it wouldn’t have been a romance, would it?

I didn’t know why I thought about it so much. Whenever I had a quiet moment—walking to work, or when Sisi went to the toilet, or while washing up—it kept coming back to me. I cared how people thought about me, sure, but why was I so fixated on trying to understand why Hyraj loved me?

Part of me that I wanted to ignore, it told me that I had to understand so I could tell her she was wrong. That how she saw me was wrong, that she didn’t love the real me, that I couldn’t be loved. I didn’t want to think that, though. Not any more. I wanted to believe I could be loved, wanted to believe her.

Once again stuck believing opposite things.

Luckily, spending time with Sisi kept me from going crazy. We had so much fun. Ever since the talk I had with Mr Arl, Sisi spoke more about her mum. Sisi drew pictures of how she remembered her mum looking, drew pictures “for” her mum, the closed room now having a “drawer of memories” from what I picked up. She sometimes went quiet, but talking about her mum mostly made her happy.

Of course, talking about “papa” made her happy too.

“Do you think papa will like it?” she asked, scowling at her scarf.

“They are going to love it,” I said. I still wasn’t the best at speaking, but tried to match Mr Arl’s level of, like, poshness when talking with Sisi.

“But I made… three mistakes,” she said, counting on her fingers as she pointed out the spots where something had gone a bit wrong. I wasn’t good enough to fix them, only noticing after she’d done a few lines. Other mistakes, I’d caught early enough, but even my own knitting wasn’t perfect.

Still, this wasn’t about me. “Know how, those spots are going to be papa’s favourites,” I said.

Pouting, she looked at me like she didn’t believe me at all. “Really?”

I smiled, tapping my finger and thumb. “Those spots mean Sisi made a mistake and they kept going. Papa will be so prideful seeing that, won’t they? I know I am.”

She perked up, very much attached to “prideful”—whether for herself or others.

“Okay,” she said, getting back into it with renewed vigour… and soon adding a fourth mistake to her list. I didn’t have the heart to make her undo the line she’d done before I looked over, so left her to it.

A good way to spend the afternoon until Mr Arl returned.

As always, she was out of her seat the moment the knock rang out. I finished my line before following her. She still always checked it was him before opening the door, so no need to worry.

When I got there, she was babbling away, all I caught in her stream of chatter was “mama”. Could see it in his eyes too. He usually kept his feelings to himself, a small smile the most he showed, but his smile looked so heavy right now.

All the thoughts I’d been struggling with this week surged forwards, resonating. “Mr Arl, can—may I ask something—if it isn’t too much?” I said, struggling with how to phrase it. Books could only teach me so much politeness.

“Go on?” he said.

A second wasn’t exactly enough time for me to put together my words, especially since this was even more awkward to phrase, but I was still self-conscious about how long I was taking. “That is it… with their wife… when did Mr Arl… prefer her?”

His smile grew thinner, the hand holding Sisi pulled her tighter, and his gaze slid away from me, staring at nothing. At least he didn’t get angry at my question. Seconds dragging on, I was preparing my apology when he finally gave a small chuckle.

“Prefer? What a groik word—do they know where it comes from?” he asked, his voice normal, but maybe a little quiet.

I went to shake my head, remembered in time to shoo my hand.

“It is from the lunder canon, old stories told to children,” he said. “There is one about a beloved princess who turns sixteen, which was the marriageable age back in those times. Everyone wished to marry to her, but a prince proposed first, and he was the perfect prince: handsome, generous, and calm. Seeing that, everyone else gave up because they couldn’t compare to him.”

Pausing there, Mr Arl looked down at Sisi and gave her a smile; like the story was really for her.

“However, another person proposed to her. He was a servant-boy of the castle, not overly handsome, wearing old clothes, and he was known to get into fights. Everyone laughed at him for proposing, asking if he had no shame. He took a look at the prince and another look at the princess, and he said, ‘To make ma’am happy, I would give up anything, even my shame.’

“The crowd stopped laughing at that, and they grew shocked when the princess walked over and held out her hand, letting him kiss her palm. She looked at him and she said, ‘The prince may look handsome to most, but I like looking at you. The prince may have money to be generous with, but I have no need of his generosity. The prince may be calm, but I remember how angry you were when the other servant-boys were saying mean things about me. The prince is certainly a good man, but I prefer you.’”

For some reason, Sisi giggled at that, no clue why. Children’s minds worked in strange ways sometimes. As for mine, well, it was a nice story, but was that really how life worked? Weren’t princesses supposed to marry princes?

Mr Arl wasn’t finished, though. “That is it, I answered a question they didn’t ask,” he said, some spring back in his voice. “With my passed-wife, I loved her upon meeting. It may sound childish, but I felt such chission, then we worked together for a long time and I only found more about her to love.”

I listened intently, both comforted and disheartened that it sounded more like the “love” I thought was normal. Similar to Hyraj’s, yet different, unclear to me why.

“Of course, it would be another story if she was asked. From what she told me over the years… I wasn’t exactly good at hiding my feelings, so she thought I was quite the nuisance, but I only spoke to her about work and tried not to bother her. At some point, I suppose I became her nuisance. When I was sent here, she decided to take a risk and ask me to propose, and the rest is… this,” he said, one hand gesturing at the house, the other patting Sisi’s head.

Another normal love story, I thought. Very much the makings of a hit romcom. Maybe if I could talk to her… but I couldn’t. Even this much, really, I was being cruel to Mr Arl….

Growing self-consciousness, I thanked him sincerely and left them to their evening.

Even with the walk back to think over what he’d told me, I didn’t, like, understand love any better. I didn’t know why I felt like I needed to. It wasn’t like it mattered to me, not like I was interested in falling in love and having a family and all that. After the orphanage, I had absolutely no desire to be a “mum” and, honestly, thinking about being pregnant freaked me out.

Love… it sounded nice, being loved, but I didn’t think I could ever deserve it. Didn’t think I could love someone back. If I couldn’t do that, well, how could it ever be “fair”?

With her new books, Hyraj left me to wallow in my own misery upon my return. Not intentionally, probably, but she turned the page so often, it seemed like she was addicted. As night fell, I ended up just watching her read. The peace and quiet was nice for me. Not like I was back at the orphanage, trying to get the not-so-little ones to do their homework.

At some point, I drifted off, only realising when I woke up. Pushing myself up, I looked over and she was still reading. Couldn’t be that late.

After a yawn and a stretch, I got ready for bed; she didn’t move at all except to turn the page. Looking at her for a moment, I smiled, then settled down on my “bed”, the roll-up mattress thing feeling even comfier than the actual bed.

In the morning, the sun shone bright with a bit of a chill in the air. Like summer had finally “broken”. Well, it seemed pretty tropical here? The days didn’t really feel any shorter either.

Anyway, it felt fresh, not the usual mugginess that came with sunshine. Good weather for the ordeal that was washing clothes without a washing machine. But I helped with the cooking too. Getting ready for winter, the cook told me. She had a huge bag of nuts? We broke them up and, like, melted them on the stove, turning them into something like lard? I didn’t really know what lard was… margarine made from animal fat? Anyway, it ended up like a glassy butter, easy to spread, but not really melting. She didn’t exactly explain why we were doing it, just that it was good for frying and, after tasting some sort of bready-pancakes, it did have a nice taste. Sort of like peanuts, but also some cinnamon?

As busy as my morning was, I was happy to go out with Hyraj after lunch. It didn’t need to be said. The weather was nice, it was the weekend, so we went for a walk. She led the way to the outskirts of the town, sort of following the river upstream.

It reminded me of being back at the camp. The sound. I could close my eyes and remember the peaceful days spent there like it was just yesterday. Funny, though, I remembered being there with her, not alone. It had been awkward before she came along. Not easy to start fires, hard to cook anything properly. I didn’t mind drinking the spring water, but her magic water was cleaner, so probably saved me from getting sick.

Honestly, I was going crazy before she found me. Was already kind of crazy. Maybe some people could live alone just fine, but I couldn’t. I grew up without ever having a moment alone. Even going to the toilet, I was used to people knocking and asking when I’d be done—and I never forgot to lock the door because of people who didn’t knock first.

No point thinking about those days, though.

We ended up sitting under some trees along the riverbank. Sort of like willow trees, but also like palm trees, huge, drooping leaves instead of branches. Pretty, really. The leaves made a dome, but were thin, glowing in the sunlight when I looked up.

Glowing….

My mind liked going off in all directions, this time heading towards a question for Hyraj: “Would you… teach me some more magic?” I whispered.

The stream gurgled, leaves rustled, and she turned the page of her book, then slotted in her bookmark. “That is it, I did not lie when calling myself an atrocious teacher?”

“I’ve had worse,” I said lightly, covering my mouth as a giggle slipped out. “Don’t shout at me for doing it wrong and let me go to toilet when I need to, okay?”

Though it was a joke, she didn’t laugh, her soft expression tensing for a moment before settling back into a smile. “Okay,” she whispered.

Then it really was like we were back at the camp, sitting close together as she made me go over the basics, making circles with my fingers and thumbs and squeezing them. Not really accomplishing anything, but reminding me of the lessons I’d half-forgotten.

A nice way to spend an afternoon.