Kiss the Stranger

chapter 4



I stood still, clutching the fruit I’d picked from the tree, and he looked straight at me. His dazed expression made him seem still half asleep. After a moment’s hesitation, I stepped forward and approached him cautiously. He waited in silence as I drew near.
My gaze drifted to his lips, and I realized I couldn’t come any closer. I sat down a few paces away, and he frowned in puzzled disapproval. I ignored it and called out.
“Are you feeling any better? Does your shoulder still hurt?”

My heart pounded at the thought of actually speaking with another person. How long had it been since anyone—Ghurab’s few curt words didn’t count. My voice trembled slightly as I watched him.
He finally glanced down at the bandages, as if noticing his wounds for the first time. After a brief wince, he looked back at me with a detached expression. I hurried to ask a question I thought he might want to answer.
“This oasis is on the outskirts of Al-Fatih… the lord’s private land. If you’re from another region, you can stay here until you heal, but you should leave before anyone else notices.”

I didn’t mention needing the lord’s permission—he’d already know, and I didn’t want to bring up my uncle. If he learned I’d had contact with a stranger, Uncle Jarwal would be furious.
“……”
He gave no response. The crease between his brows deepened, but I couldn’t read his thoughts. I waited until he finally spoke.

“…Where is this?”
“Al-Fatih.”
I answered immediately, but he remained silent, scanning the horizon as if something troubled him. My unease grew until he spoke again.
“Who are you? …What’s our relationship?”

I answered carefully.
“My name’s Yohan. We’ve never met before—I found you wounded, loaded onto a camel.”
He fell silent again. In the heavy quiet I forced out another offer.

“If you tell me where you came from, I could point you in the right direction. Your camel’s healthy; if you ride it to the city, you’ll find help fast. I’m sorry, there’s no phone or anything here….”

I realized I’d never checked his belongings. But he wore only a light shirt and trousers—there was nothing to identify him. I forced a light tone.
“What’s your name? How should I address you?”

He might stand and leave at any moment. Still, I asked politely—and his face twisted into something grotesque. I blinked in alarm.
“…Don’t know.”
He finally whispered, his voice tight and broken. I tilted my head to hear better, and he opened his mouth again, but no sound came. Lips trembling, he struggled, then managed to say:

“I don’t know…anything.”
My eyes widened before I realized it. He shouted hoarsely:
“I remember nothing! Nothing at all!”

He cursed and clutched his head in both hands. I watched, stunned by his fierce reaction.
After that outburst, he grew quiet again, as if emptied of thought. He sank against the hut wall, dazed. Compassion welled in me. I scooped up some of the just-finished rice and brought it to him.
“Please, try some of this.”

He looked at the bowl listlessly. I held it out again.
“You need strength. Rest a bit; your memory will come back. Don’t rush yourself….”
That was all I could say. I had no way to show him a doctor. All I could do was hope his mind recovered naturally. Gently, I placed the bowl at his feet, and he stared down at it—rice boiled with extra water, salted. I’d even sacrificed my own dried fish for him. Rikal had polished off two bowls already and was curled up napping in a corner. He frowned at my meager portion.
“I usually only eat this much.”

It wasn’t a lie: when supplies ran low, I survived on this. I’d given him three times my share.
He needed more than I ever did.
As expected, he devoured his bowl before I’d emptied half of mine. Perhaps he believed food would bring back his memory. But his hasty action didn’t help. Finishing the rice, he scowled, then suddenly sat up, startling me.

Maybe I should sleep before I get hungry again?

The thought rose to my lips but I swallowed it awkwardly, shaking my head. He looked at me strangely, then turned and walked out of the hut. I watched him go, sipping the watery rice. After a moment he slipped beyond sight.
I finished my meal in silence, then washed and tidied the dishes. He returned once I’d nearly finished cleaning—his expedition evidently fruitless. He entered without a word and collapsed onto the makeshift bed. I said nothing; after all, he would leave soon, and he was my guest—my injured guest. I was just glad someone else was here. While I finished up, he waited, his gaze fixed on me even without looking back. Nervous energy made me wash a towel twice, move the pot around, pet the dozing Rikal, and go in and out of the hut four times before I could avoid him no longer. I turned at last, and our eyes met. I swallowed dryly, and he spoke.

“Finished?”
His calm voice sent a chill down my spine. The thought that he’d waited all this time for me to stop cleaning was frightening. I nodded, and he looked down—inviting me to sit. I chose a spot a few paces ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) away, for a different reason this time. He spoke without delay.
“Nothing around here.”

“Yes.”
I nodded. “The city’s far. As I said, this is Al-Fatih… the lord’s private land.…”
“Private land means it belongs to the lord. So why are you living here alone?”

Though he’d lost his memory, he was sharp. I hadn’t expected that question and hesitated. Lying about another roommate would fool no one; the hut was plainly solitary.
“…Family reasons.”
I tried to deflect. He frowned and pressed on.

“Are you hiding here? Does the lord know you’re here?”
“…Yes.”
I decided that was safe to say. He’d piece together the situation sooner or later. He stroked his chin, brows knotted in thought. Then he sighed deeply and rubbed his face. His frustration made me gently offer comfort.

“Don’t rush. Rest first. It won’t help to push yourself—your wounds aren’t healed. Even if your memory returns, you’ll need strength to leave.…”
I realized I’d spoken out of turn. I should’ve sent him away sooner, not offered a rest. He halted, and after a moment sighed again.
“…You’re right.”
He sounded utterly spent. My pity returned. I rose quickly and smoothed the rumpled cloth on his bed.

“Go to sleep. Your memory will return in time. Don’t strain your mind—rest.”
I looked up, and his eyes met mine. For the first time I saw his irises close up—and I froze. They weren’t black with a hint of blue. Sunlight streamed through the window, and I saw vivid violet eyes shining like a gemstone. My breath caught as I stared, entranced.
He spoke then, his voice deeper, soft in my ear.

“…Did you kiss me?”
His gaze was locked on my lips.


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