Kiss the Stranger

The day after the rain, the sky was clearer than usual. I hung the laundry on the line and took a deep breath in, then out. The crisp air filled my lungs and left me tingling; I paused to enjoy the freshness. Rikal had jumped onto the veranda railing and was peering down at passersby. I kissed the cat, turned, and went back inside. Today I planned to catch up on chores. With the laundry done, I thought I’d start cleaning—when there was a knock at the door. As expected, the steward stood there.
“Yohan, what are you doing? I bought some new black tea; would you like to share a cup?”

His gentle smile made me hesitate.
“I was going to do chores today…”
Trailing off, I glanced back at the room. He smiled and proposed,

“How about this: have your meal in my quarters later. Then you’ll have less to prepare and clean up tonight, right?”
The offer sounded too good to refuse—I raised my voice before I realized it.
“May I really?”

“Of course, Yohan. Will Rikal join us?”
At the call, the cat looked up from where he’d been watching, leapt down, and ran to the door. The steward bent down; Rikal happily tilted his chin for a scratch and purred. Unfazed, the steward scooped him up.
“Shall we go to my quarters, you two?”
“Oh? So that’s what happened.”

Across from me, the steward set down his teacup with an admiring exclamation. I laughed and nodded.
“Rikal’s antics and feigned innocence aren’t exactly rare.”
He reached down to scratch the cat’s head as Rikal rolled in a sunbeam on the floor.

“He’s a cat—you have to forgive him.”
He chuckled at the kitten, and I laughed too. Then the steward sat up and asked,
“Anything else you need help with besides cleaning?”

“Cleaning is a bit of a chore.”
I answered cautiously. His height would be helpful.
“I could move the chair myself, but still…”

He nodded readily.
“Of course. Tell me if you need anything.”
“Thank you. Actually, I wanted to do a thorough spring cleaning—there are spots I can’t reach.”

“That’s easy enough. What was I worrying about?”
Relieved, I smiled and asked,
“How’s your research these days? Is it going well?”

His research was on alphas and omegas—rare “ultra-alphas” and “ultra-omegas.” He explained:
“Ultra-omegas are hard to find, but ultra-alphas are easier—distinct physical traits. They can suppress pheromones or control their own fertility.”
“Control pregnancy?”

“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Ultra-alphas can choose who they impregnate—provided they have reason to. If pheromones accumulate, they say the brain goes haywire.”
I still understood little. Seeing my confusion, he added,

“They lose their memory, go insane, or suffer severe brain damage. So they’re supposed to release pheromones regularly. But many just broadcast them constantly and indulge in reckless sex to rid themselves of the scent. It’s nonsense.”
I blinked at his disdain. He quickly shifted gears.
“You’ve never been to America, have you, Yohan?”

“No… I haven’t been abroad at all.”
Embarrassed, I trailed off. He patted my hand over the table.
“It’s my first overseas trip too. Lots of people never get passports.”

“I don’t have ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) one either.”
“Of course not.”
He recalled my story and circled back.

“In any case, ultra-alphas’ pheromones are different—and they’ve got legendary immunity. Post-manifestation, they rarely catch colds or feel the effects of alcohol or drugs. Pheromones definitely influence the brain—hence why many are sociopaths…”
“……”
“They can’t feel emotion, or if they do, they ignore it for self-interest.”

He summarized.
“They may rise to power easily, but personally, I’d never want to deal with one. They harm others without a second thought.”
“I see…”

“Be careful, Yohan. Try not to encounter any.”
He warned. I forced a wry smile.
“There’s no way I’ll meet them—not at that level.”

He fell silent for a moment—unexpectedly—then nodded with a laugh.
“You’re right. We won’t cross paths.”
He then casually changed the subject.

“When I was young, my family owned a farm…”
After dinner, the steward and I cleaned the house, and I showered. Nearing midnight, I dragged my tired body into bed.
“Rikal.”

At the call, the cat—grooming himself—lifted his head and bounded into the bed. I’d become used to falling asleep on the large mattress with Rikal’s warm weight beside me. As I closed my eyes, the day’s words echoed in my mind:
“They lose their memory.”
The face I had seen lingered vividly before me. His scent was gone from the room, and every trace had long since vanished. It felt as if he’d never existed and it had been only me all along. A surge of yearning I’d tried to suppress welled up in my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut to hold back tears, but the sting in my nose was unavoidable.

After that day, Kamar left no trace. I searched desperately, but he vanished like smoke. He never appeared at the shop where I sold tapestries. He had indeed disappeared as though he were nothing but mist.
At first, I could barely swallow food, let alone water. Without the steward and Rikal, I would have starved. Out of concern, the steward visited daily to give me rice porridge or soft fruit. For over a month, that was all I managed to eat. Only then did my mind clear, little by little.
“I must be strong and wait for him.”

The steward’s repeated encouragement felt right. I slowly regained strength and resumed work. Weaving tapestries was grueling and my vision sometimes blurred, but I had to earn my living. Eventually I found some stability, and my days fell into a routine—waiting for him.
Yet whenever the longing became unbearable, tears would fall.
Where are you, Kamar? What happened? Why won’t you come back?

At last, unable to hold them back, I wept in soft sobs.
…I miss you.