Kiss the Stranger

The jeep raced up the ridge where the man on the camel had appeared, kicking up a swirl of sand. I didn’t wait for it to come closer; I stepped forward a few paces until it halted not far from where I stood.
“Ah—hello.”
My nerves made me stammer. But the driver, thankfully, seemed to suspect nothing as he climbed out. While my uncle’s courier unloaded the items from the vehicle, I held up the tapestry I’d spent the last month weaving. When he’d removed everything else, the courier turned to me. His gaze zeroed in on the tapestry. Wordlessly he took it, examined it from all sides, then scowled. I tensed, drawing in my shoulders.

“Honestly. You should think about my position too, trying to sell something like this.”
His muttered complaint nevertheless rang loud enough for me to hear. Deflated, I apologized.
“I—I’m sorry. I tried my best….”

The courier clicked his tongue.
“Trying hard isn’t enough. Results matter. How do you expect me to sell this and earn money? Listen, young master, even Jarwal is strapped for cash these days. What I’m sending you now is barely enough, got it?”
“I—I understand. I’m sorry.”

I apologized again. He was probably right. In any case, I was grateful he remembered me each month. Ghurab shook his head, then fetched a sapling from the back of the jeep. My fig sapling. I sighed with relief, but he stood firm and declared:
“You’ll have to make another tapestry.”
“W-what?”
Startled, I stared at him. His face bristled with dissatisfaction.

“The pieces you’ve made are such poor quality I can’t get full price. So you need quantity. From now on, five a month. Understood?”
“F-five?”
Two was barely possible—five was out of the question. My shock must have shown; Ghurab’s face darkened.

“Well, if you can’t do it, I guess you’ll just have to stop expecting favors….”
“W-wait!”
I grabbed his arm as he turned away, desperate. I pleaded again.

“Five is impossible…please, can’t you make an exception? I can manage two—no, three. I swear I’ll do three…please, I beg you….”
Hearing my frantic pleas, Ghurab clicked his tongue once more.
“I’m letting you off because I feel sorry for you, young master. Do you get that?”

“Y-yes. Of course. Thank you, thank you so much….”
I bowed my thanks over and over. He glanced at the sapling, then magnanimously handed it to me.
“Here—this was coming anyway.”

“Thank you. Truly—may God grant you mercy.”
I accepted the sapling, thanking him again. He cleared his throat.
“Alright, then let’s say next time I get three tapestries. Anything else you need?”

He looked me over. I hesitated, then replied cautiously.
“One more fig sapling, and I’d like some medicine—disinfectant, painkillers, and antibiotics.”
I paused, then added on impulse:
“And some large men’s clothes…size XL.”

In case the man woke up, he’d stay until next month. He’d need clothes to wear when he left, I figured. Ghurab’s expression soured immediately.
“What do you need XXL for? Even the smallest size would fit you.”
I stammered:

“I—I just…have uses for them. Please, I ask you….”
He regarded me in silence. A bad feeling stirred. Ghurab scratched his chin and said:
“With that appetite, three tapestries won’t cover it. You really do need five a month.”

Impossible though it was, this time my begging failed. Resigned, I agreed to postpone the fig sapling and accept only the medicine and clothes—worth three tapestries. I even coaxed him into adding salt and oil. He promised to come five days early next month, then left. I watched the jeep vanish, feeling hollow.
No, I did the right thing. Life comes first.

Besides, this was the first person I’d seen since moving here. It was as though God had sent him to save me. I shook off my lingering regret and set to work. How lucky that Ghurab had left without suspicion. Only then did I notice the camel’s tracks strewn wildly near the hut. Had Ghurab looked around, we’d have been exposed. I couldn’t risk worrying my uncle any more.

Ghurab would return in about a month. By then the man should be better; I’d clothe him and send him on. It would be as if nothing had happened. With that thought, I hurried to bring my supplies inside.
Meanwhile the man lay asleep, not once opening his eyes. Maybe he’d lost consciousness. Once I’d tidied up, I exhaled and checked him again. The bandages I’d applied were no longer bloodstained. After inspecting the wound, I looked up—and the man’s body filled my vision. As I took in his length, I realized anew:
He was enormous. Larger than anything I’d ever seen.

…Surely bears aren’t this big?
I stared at his endless legs, mouth dry. Perhaps he was a bear in human clothes.
It seemed a logical thought. There could be no human that large. I nodded to myself and shifted my gaze. Then I saw his face, and acceptance flooded me.

This was, without doubt, a man. A hugely tall, impossibly handsome man.
His chest, exposed when I unwound the bandages, must have been three times my size. And that was relaxed—what would he be like standing? His revealed abs were chiseled so sharply no fat remained. When I noted that one thigh rivaled my waist in thickness, a surge of fear clenched me.
How had this man been injured?

If anything dreadful happened, no one here could help me. If he wanted to snap my neck, he could do it one-handed—maybe even with two fingers. A chill ran down my spine.
I have to help # Nоvеlight # him, Yohan.
Suddenly I recalled my father’s words that day:
People must help each other.

That memory gave me courage. Father had lived by those words. Compared to then, this was nothing. I drew in a deep breath and steeled myself. Rikal padded over, mewing for dinner. I realized I’d promised him a meal and sprang to my feet.
“I’m sorry, Rikal. I’ll feed you right now.”
Today was the one day each month I had plenty. I always filled Rikal’s bowl with fish and rice. But now I hesitated—there were two mouths to feed. As I measured rice, I glanced back. The man was still unconscious, but when he woke, he’d be starving. His appetite would dwarf mine and Rikal’s. I needed to ration until next month.

But as always, the choice was clear. I’d just skip a meal. How much could Rikal eat?
Resolved, I washed the rice and set the pot. Rikal circled me, mewing excitedly. I placed a whole dried fish beside his bowl. The savory scent of cooking rice rose in the air. It was an ordinary evening—except for the long shape in the middle of the hut and the idle camel by the water outside.
An unfamiliar sound roused me from a light doze. At first I couldn’t place it—so long had it been since I’d heard another person’s voice.

I blinked awake to find I’d drifted off at the loom, face resting on the frame. I hurriedly checked the tapestry—thankfully untouched. Then I turned to identify the noise. It came from the man lying on the floor.
“…Ugh…ugh.”
He groaned, sweat beading on his brow. I rushed over and pressed my hand to his forehead—it burned. His fever was rising, and he still couldn’t swallow pills. I tried giving him water, but it dribbled from his mouth. The precious medicine was useless if he couldn’t swallow it.

What to do?
Left unchecked, his condition would worsen. His face flushed deeper, and his groans grew more strained. I wet a cloth and pressed it to his forehead, then paused. There was only one way. I took a deep swallow of water, tucked the pill in my mouth—and pressed my lips to his.