Kiss the Stranger

That man really was incredibly strong. The huge water jug—one I’d have had to grunt through several trips to fill—I watched him hoist and fill in a single effortless motion. I had only managed to get the firewood ready when he returned with the full jug, so I blurted out in surprise.
“Already back?”

He set the jug down exactly where it belonged and smiled.
“Yeah. It wasn’t going to take that long.”
I wanted to tell him how hard I’d always found that task, but instead I just murmured, “Oh, I see.” He peered back over my head and asked,

“Anything else I can do?”
“Oh—wait a moment.”
This time I really had to stop him. I reached out and caught his arm.

“Don’t overdo it. Your shoulder still isn’t healed.”
Last night’s wound marks were still obvious. Moving like that must hurt, yet he looked completely unfazed. Either he had endless patience or he simply didn’t feel pain.
(Some people can’t feel pain—but I must be careful. Father warned me.)
I glanced down at his arm—thicker than my own thigh—and froze at the thought that I’d been needlessly worried. Then he suddenly reached out again.

“Ah—!”
I gasped, and when I gathered myself, he had lifted me onto his uninjured arm. I stared in shock as he sat me on his forearm and grinned.
“How is it? Think you need more rest?”

“No.”
I answered numbly, and his grin widened. Being perched on his arm made me higher than I’d ever been, and the strange viewpoint made me dizzy. I peered down and startled at how far up I’d climbed; he noticed.
“Scared?”

“A little.”
Honestly, I was. He lifted his free arm to steady my waist, and I instinctively gripped his shoulder.
“Don’t worry. I’ll never drop you.”

Even without him saying it, I felt utterly safe—by the strength in his arm and the trust in his gaze.
“…Okay.”
I nodded, my hand awkwardly clutching his shoulder. Too embarrassed to let go yet uneasy to hold on, I squirmed. He laughed.

“You’re ticklish.”
“Sorry.”
I pulled my hand back hastily. He released my waist, took my hand, and gently kissed my palm. My body trembled when his soft lips touched me—just like the kiss before—so I silently waited as he moved upward: wrist, inner arm…

For what, exactly?

When he finally reached my shoulder, he lifted his head. Our eyes met and a déjà vu washed over me—this was just like before, but different. This time I couldn’t escape. Maybe I was caught in a trap. My hand went limp, and I swallowed nervously. He knitted his brow, and I cried out.
“Does it hurt? Put me down, please… I told you not to overdo it.”

“No, Yohan. It’s okay.”
He shook his head. He sounded calm—unlike me. His arm holding me didn’t tremble at all. Then I realized why he’d frowned.
He might kiss me again.
I thought, eyes fixed on his.

Would I… accept the kiss?
“…Ouch.”
He broke the moment with a short sigh. I followed his gaze and saw Rikal, claws out, climbing up the stranger’s leg.

“Rikal!”
I yelled reflexively. The cat leapt into my arms, and finally my wits returned.
“I—I need to feed Rikal.”

He showed no sign of letting me down, so I clutched the cat tighter with one arm and pressed his shoulder with the other. He sighed and set me back on the floor. I stepped away to pretend busy, and he spoke at last.
“I’ll go check on the camel.”
“Oh, okay.”

I was grateful and answered quickly. I heard his footsteps grow faint as he left the hut. Without looking back, I moved about, boiling water and sneaking glances: it was just Rikal and me inside. I exhaled in relief, but a hollow ache followed. I hurriedly began preparing breakfast.
“…So, there’s only desert around here?”
After we’d eaten, he asked, and I nodded.

“Past the sands lies the central city. That’s where the king lives. It’s the most glorious place—full of royalty. I guess you probably came from there. Any other city is past Al-Fatih, and you appeared from the desert side.”
He seemed to ponder, then asked,
“How big is the desert?”

I tilted my head.
“I crossed it as a child, so I’m not sure exactly—but it took about three or four days to reach the central city.”
“Royals live there?”
“Yeah. I don’t know how it is now, but as far as I know, His Majesty the King and his family live there. His siblings, too.”

He said,
“You seem very familiar with it.”
“I went there when I was little.”

I puffed up a bit. He just gave a faint smile, as if he understood.

“How many times?”
“Two? Three? I can’t remember exactly.”

My father had taken me—he died there on our last visit. I pushed aside that sad memory by chatting rapidly.
“The palace was so splendid—enormous. The royals had fancy carriages, too. His Majesty was very kind…”
My memories grew vague the more I tried, until I recalled one surprising moment.

“A boy once proposed to me there. I must have been very small—probably the first time I went. He was older than me…”
“A boy?”
I nodded. I didn’t remember his face, only that he was much bigger than me. I couldn’t help but smile as I looked at the massive stranger before me.

“I think he mistook me for a girl at a banquet.”
Recalling it made me keep smiling. My mother had been embarrassed, my father had laughed. And he’d joked…
“If Yohan had been a girl… you’d have married…”

He watched me wordlessly. Embarrassed, I added,
“I was sort of pretty back then.”
“Sort of?”

He repeated, a mocking frown, and I looked away.
“When I was very young.”
That had been a happy time. Both my parents were alive… before my manifestation.

He broke the silence.
“How long have you lived like this?”
“Hmm, how many years? Six? Seven?”

I answered without thinking. It didn’t really matter. He watched me again and asked,
“Always alone with a cat?”
“…Yes.”

I felt uncomfortable but honest. He fell silent, then spoke quietly.
“How long will you stay here? Just you and the cat?”
I couldn’t answer right away. My lips moved but no sound came.

“Forever.”
He hesitated at my answer. I added,
“I’ll stay here, always. Even after you leave.”

Probably for the rest of my life.
He said nothing. I changed the subject.
“Anything else you want to know?”

He thought a moment, then said,
“Give me a name.”