Kiss the Stranger

“…Ugh, ha.”
A muffled groan escaped his crushed lips. I ignored it and pressed deeper. His lips were as hot as his body, his mouth even hotter. The pill dissolved in the tepid water, its bitter taste spreading, but I endured and thrust my tongue inside. I had to make him swallow. My tongue met his—whether he tried to push me away or recoiled by accident, our tongues tangled and rubbed together. I kept probing his mouth until I felt his Adam’s apple bobbing. Just as I lifted my head thinking, Got it, he suddenly seized my hair.
“……!”

I startled, eyes snapping open, but no sound escaped. My jaw slackened, and his tongue plunged deeper, stirring wildly. His other hand clutched my waist. Bent over him, I lost my balance and toppled onto his chest. In that instant, my body belonged entirely to him.
“Ugh…ugh…”
His hand slid down to grip my hip, and an embarrassed moan burst from me. It didn’t stop there—he kneaded my flesh through my trousers and finally rubbed the crack between my buttocks.

“Ugh.”
I wanted to tell him to stop, but no words came. Saliva slicked our mouths, and my tongue slipped. When his hand left my hair to stroke my nape, I reflexively lifted my head.
“…Ha!”

Only when I gasped did I realize we’d been kissing. My lips parted, and only then did his tongue withdraw. A strand of saliva glistened # Nоvеlight # between us, and shame heated my cheeks. I was just giving him medicine—nothing else. He kissed me of his own accord.
Despite knowing the truth, my face burned. I heard my ragged breathing and realized he too panted.

Haah, haah.
He drew ragged breaths and slowly opened his eyes. Hesitant, his gaze met mine.

“…….”
I froze, utterly unprepared. We stared at each other. Fully awake, I could tell he was still dazed. His eyes drifted down then up again before he spoke, though only breathy sounds emerged.
…masha’Allah.

He whispered, and a faint smile touched his lips. Moonlight spilled through the cracked window, illuminating his refined features. As the corners of his mouth lifted, his sharp lines softened into warmth. I watched, stunned—he couldn’t be speaking to me.
(Bi)smillah masha’Allah.
Those words suited him more than me—a phrase my father often said to my mother in wonder at her beauty. But he was delirious, mistaking me—an insignificant omega—for something beautiful. Ridiculous.

“…You’re more beautiful.”
I blurted it unconsciously. He laughed softly, as if amused, then took my hand. Pressing his lips to my palm, his eyes glazed and he drifted back to sleep, still holding my hand. I stilled my breath and watched his deepen and slow. The world around us was still and silent. In that quiet, it was only him and me.
A faint scent of dust mingled with a foreign fragrance I’d never smelled—sweet like childhood chocolate. My heart fluttered, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

“Beautiful” was the wrong word. He was impossibly handsome. Like most men, he had cropped black hair and sun-darkened skin; his face, however, was unique. A shadow cast beneath a sharp nose traced his high cheekbones, leading to full lips and a square jaw. His brow connected to strong arches, topped by long, dark eyebrows. I sensed a hint of nobility in him. I’d never seen anyone so handsome. After years of isolation, I knew I’d never see another like him.

Though his eyes were closed, I imagined their color—dark as night with a hint of blue. I longed for him to open them again. But he slept more deeply than before, unmoving. Watching him, I shivered—and, to my surprise, he pulled me closer.
I blinked in alarm, then realized my face was buried against his chest. I froze. Silence returned, and he stayed still.

Time passed, and his fever broke, but his body remained warmer than mine. Testing with my hand, I found my palm cold in comparison. Perhaps his baseline was higher. I lifted my head; his face was still pale. Pressing my ear to his chest, I heard a slow, steady heartbeat—no sign of distress.
Relieved, I closed my eyes. His body lay beneath me like a vast carpet—comforting yet rigid. His thick arms, muscled thighs, and solid chest made the surface hard, but I dared not move for fear of waking him. Remaining perfectly still, drowsiness overtook me. I fell asleep cradled against him.
…So warm.

I rubbed my cheek and nestled closer, and he, half-asleep, drew me into his arms. Encased in his warmth like a great blanket, I felt safe.
When I woke again, the sun was overhead. The midday air was heavy and hot. I wanted to linger in bed, but seeing him snapped me awake—there was work to do. Falling asleep at the loom had left me far behind.
First, I had to feed Rikal. The cat raced toward me, mewing.
“I’m sorry, Rikal. I’ll feed you right away.”

His arm around my waist was looser but still trapped me in its muscular grip. Carefully I freed myself and slipped away. He didn’t stir. I moved silently, retrieved my food, and set rice to cook. The portion seemed laughably small against his size, and I panicked—there were three mouths to feed now. I added extra water to stretch the grain.
While waiting, I returned to check him. His forehead was cool; wounds showed no fresh bleeding. His shoulder bandage might need changing later, but for now he seemed stable. A few bruises would heal with time.
Surprisingly, he looked well. It was hard to believe he’d dragged himself here. His clothes, though torn and dirty, were fine quality—he must come from a good family.

He won’t stay long….
Realizing this, a pang of emptiness struck me. I had to prepare food for his departure—my stores were far too meager. Then I remembered the date fruits I’d saved. I slipped outside. A breeze stirred the hut; I glanced back to see him unmoving and closed the door.
Around the oasis stand palms old and young. My saplings were short enough to reach; the ancient trees bore fruit too high to grasp. I picked only what I could reach.

By the time I returned, the rice’s scent drifted through the air. The steam smelled of soft grains—enough to make my mouth water and my stomach ache. Today I would eat. I hurried inside. As I entered, the door creaked unwelcome. Basket in hand, I glanced toward where he’d lain—and froze.
He was sitting up.