Springtime laundry came in heaps and the weaved basket she held strained her muscles.
So heavy!
Spring cleaning, spring beginnings. To the laundry pond she walked, in a balancing act to keep the fabrics from falling to the ground. 6 am was quiet, crisp. Only the birds and the frogs could be heard, singing to a new day. The sky was clear, the air smelled of earth and daffodils. The young girl was attentive to these things, letting the breeze run its fingers through her short auburn hair. She didn't mind being alone, despite the unpleasant chore her mother had posed on her. Spending the morning at the laundry pond would be peaceful. She could hum at the butterflies as she washed the linens. Solitude was something the timid child cherished.
But she would not be alone. To her dismay, someone else was already sitting on the bank. She recognized the boy almost instantly by the distinct color of his hair, which resembled a perse violet.
She let out an unexpected sigh. The boy turned to face her. He was the mayor's son.
"Good morning."
Lowering the basket, she waved meekly in response. His aura was regal, yet light. She had seen the boy before, in town hall and around the neighborhood. She had never approached him, being someone so shy.
"Isn't it a bit early for laundry?"
She shrugged a little, taking strands of her hair and twirling them nervously between her fingers.
The boy grinned, softening his gaze. He could tell his presence had taken her by surprise.
"Do you want some help?"
He stood up and brushed his hands against his trousers. They were royal purple. Everything about him, she noticed, was royal and mauve. His eyes especially.
"I couldn't… ask you to do that." She spoke so low it was almost inaudible.
"You aren't asking, I'm offering." His voice was like the water's surface. Restfully tranquil, clear, and reassuring.
The young girl remained still as he walked up to her. Smiling softly, he kneeled down and picked up the basket of linens, grunting at its weight.
"You're pretty strong, carrying this all the way here!" he mused, taking the basket towards the bank. He set it down and began to empty the contents onto the grass.
She wasn't sure how she felt about the mayor's son helping her do the Inn's laundry. She figured he wasn't one to perform such domestic chores. But there was something about this boy that made her feel at ease. She didn't want him to leave, though she felt guilty at his insisted help. Relieving her tense, sheepish posture, she joined him by the pond.
He had already begun scrubbing a sheet in the water when she joined his side. Brushing her skirt up underneath her legs, she sat down and couldn't help but watch his hands. Their movements were polished, refined. Mesmerizing. Her father's hands were stiff and strong, rugged in their masculine shape. But his were like rolling waves, smooth in their sophisticated movements. The hands of royalty it seemed. He might as well be a prince. She felt red thinking of this.
"Wh-why are you up so early?" She turned away, embarrassed from staring, picking up another sheet and dipping it in the water.
He smiled slightly, turning his head to her. "I like the morning. It's quiet."
"I feel like a burden. You don't have to help." She lowered her head.
"You speak very honestly." He continued scrubbing. "I admire that."
The young girl mused quietly over the compliment.
"Besides," he continued, "I've got time to spare."
"Thank you." Was it wrong of her to have assumed the mayor's son as someone who wasn't so, charitable?
They washed in silence for a while, leaving the talking to the springtime. The leaves of a tree ruffled beside them. A frog was chirping in the bushes. She became restless in his company.
Should I be saying something?
His expression seemed calm, yet lost in thought. Was he comfortable enough? She couldn't help but feel estranged. Yet, his company lulled her into a surprising comfort.
"Your father owns Stock Pot Inn, right?"
His question broke her from deep contemplation.
"Y-yes." She didn't mean for her voice to come out shaking.
"My father went to school with him. I think they were friends."
"Ah, right. M-my granny used to be their teacher."
He smiled at her again. "We could be friends, too."
Fluttering butterflies crowded her stomach in airy delight.
"Hmm." She managed a smile in her blush. "That'd be nice."
Why am I… so nervous!
His smile grew fonder. "I'd really like that."
She was charmed by his beaming expression. That day, a floating feeling flooded her chest. Holding in it a sweet scent in the air. A promising warmth in the early light.
"I'm Kafei." He took a break from the washing to turn towards her.
She nodded. "I-I know. You're, quite popular in town."
He chuckled, then sighed. "Yeah I guess I am. But don't let that make you tense. I'm easy."
She smiled apologetically. "I'm always anxious."
The way he looked at her, it was consoling. She eased her shoulders. There was something between them that smelled like spring.
"What's your name?"
This boy, there was something about his company, she thought. Something trustworthy. Something that brought solace to her nervous soul.
"I'm Anju."
"Miss. Miss!"
A harsh voice alerted the young woman. Like a ceramic bowl shattering on tile, her mind snapped back to reality.
"I, uh, welcome. Do you have a reservation?"
The words came out of her suddenly, like instinct.
"Huh? I already checked in!"
Realizing that the loud voice came from the troupe leader staying upstairs, Anju began to stammer in embarrassment.
"I-I apologize, sir. H-how can I help you?"
The man had a frown burrowed deeply in his forehead and his well defined mustache twisted sideways in what seemed like a permanent scowl.
"I asked you what time the Mayor's office opened. Hmph."
"Oh, of course." She glanced at the clock ticking behind her unsettled customer. "It will be open to the public at 10 a.m." Her soft voice was trembling.
"Hmph."
The man turned to sit on the divan before she could finish, without another word. The room succumbed into uncomfortable silence for what seemed, to Anju, like forever. Her face was still flushed in red. She tried to busy herself in the documents before her, slender fingers shaking. When the man finally decided to get up and make his exit, she let out an audible sigh of relief.
That was sufficiently unpleasant.
Anju had never been good with people. Her timid nature was incompatible with her position at the Inn's front desk. Despite many years working in her father's legacy, her character would always be that of an anxious introvert.
She sighed again. These days it was more than her personality that was taking a toll on her. A recently turbulent romance had her in low spirits for some time. She couldn't focus properly on anything, and her worries showed despite her attempt to hide her feelings.
It's been a month…
The young woman could feel the gloom engulfing her like a dark fog. She brushed a hand through her autumn colored hair. It was never something that completely dissipated. Some days were better than others, but the fog remained, dizzying her soul. She tried to distract herself with work.
The lobby became still. The clock on the wall ticked in solitude, accompanied by the light foosteps of a dancer who had been pacing back and forth through the lobby all morning. She looked worried, trudging her bare feet up the stairs, down the stairs, through the lobby. Her movements, Anju observed, were like the clock on the wall. She was part of a performing group who had checked in the night before, along with the bitter man who left earlier.
They were all strange in character, Anju thought. Colorful yet quite odd. Their festive outfits were eye catching to say the least. The dancers colored their hair and painted their nails. There was a man who was always smiling and cranking a very peculiar music box. Cheery twin brothers who juggled balls and pins and all sorts of things. Then of course, the angry gentleman who was the troupe leader. Their contrast to the townsfolk was uncanny. With them they brought a sense of the bizarre and dramatic.
But maybe, to them, we are the ones who are strange.
Lately, the town had been submerged in a ghastly atmosphere. In years past, Carnival time had always been joyous and brought good spirits. This year, for reasons that seemed lost, it was dim and drab, dull to the core. As the festivities continued to ornament Clock Town, Anju couldn't help but feel as though the celebration only reminded the people of their distress.
Her broken heart weighed down her willowy body. She sighed once more, trying to relieve the burden. She wanted to crawl into her bed, like an insect. To cocoon herself into non-existence. To sleep past Carnival time and awaken in a different timeline entirely. A world in which her lover had abandoned her, it was a world far too cruel.
Blankly staring at the tiny cow bobble-head on her desk, she lost track of time once more. Once the clock chimed the next hour, her blue eyes came back to life.
It's eleven already?
With a soft groan she stood up from the desk and headed to the Inn's kitchen. Her trembling doll-like fingers lit a match and ignited the stove's fire. Preparing food for her grandmother was not something she was fond of. The old woman had been sickly and sometimes refused to eat, despite Anju's hard work.
I know I'm not a perfect cook but…
She continued the task out of consideration. Usually it was her housework savvy mother who cooked for their small family, as well as the Inn's guests. However, she had left the afternoon before to visit old family friends in Romani Ranch. Anju couldn't quite figure out the motive behind her mother's visit. It was in haste and unexplained. Their relationship had been strained lately, and conversation was kept at a minimum. Ever since the disappearance of her fiancé, her mother had grown cold. The disconnect was stressful and lonely. Anju craved support, but she knew how bitter her mother was towards her union with her missing lover. She just hoped the woman wasn't causing a scene at the ranch, as she suspected he had fled there to be with Cremia. But he wouldn't have! Would he? Her overthinking caused her to run a hand through her hair again. She didn't want to be troubled by this right now.
Anju continued to cook with hollow eyes and troubled soul. Constantly plagued by memories of the past, she did her best to distract her mind. Although cooking wasn't her forte, she made the best out of it. The sound of the boiling porridge gave her a small sense of alleviation. A feeling she couldn't find in the presence of her family. Cooking like this reminded her of earlier days when the Inn used to be a cafeteria, run by her father. He had always been a charitable man, a great cook too, perhaps even better than her mother. She missed him. They all did. But the women of the inn now did best with what they had, and managed however they could.
She brought the wooden spoon to her lips, blowing softly on the hot food. Steam continued to swirl from the bubbling pot. The smell of pepper and herbs filled the room. She made a face at the taste of her cuisine.
I guess it's… alright?
"Oh well." With a shrug, she began to pour the contents of the pot into a bowl with a ladle. After complementing the tray with a glass of milk and a portion of bread, she wiped her hand on an apron hanging from the nearest hook.
Careful not to drop the contents of the platter, she made her way into her grandmother's room. Her steps were graceful and even. Before entering, she took a deep breath.
"It was my granddaughter who cooked again today. Putting that to the lips shortens the life! I thought of a way to get by without eating. I'll try it tomorrow. I just hope I don't get caught."
"Hi granny." She managed somewhat of a smile. "I made you lunch."
The old woman turned to her with a forced expression.
"Ah Tortus, I've already had lunch today."
Anju almost groaned. "Granny, it's me Anju. Tortus was my father."
"I've already had lunch. Now be quick to take that away."
Anju was impatient with her grandmother's problematic mental state. She didn't want to deal with this today.
"Granny, please, you have to eat something." Her voice was stern.
"Tortus, you impossible child! I told you I've already eaten!"
"Fine! Don't eat my food."
Her voice was shrill. Irritated in her manner she turned for the door.
"Phew!"
Anju stopped in her tracks, turning toward her grandmother again.
"Phew?"
The old woman stammered in response. "Phew...what are you still doing here child!"
Anju slammed the door shut. Her grandmother's antics were getting on her last nerve. She couldn't tell if the old woman was senile or if she was just difficult. Either way, her rebellion was infuriating. She hurried upstairs to her room, and slammed that door as well.
She set down the platter on her nightstand and sunk unto her bed. Her eyes forcibly ignored the festal wedding gown, propped gracefully on a mannequin in the middle of the room. Angrily, she began to shove the food into her mouth. It burned her tongue, but she did not stop.
Her mind raced with every bite, jumbling in a flurry all her sadness, her anger, her worry. She thought of how selfish her grandmother was. How sour her mother had been, and how intrusive. She thought of Cremia, beautiful perfect Cremia who stole her fiancé with her beautiful perfect body. She hated them. She hated the Inn. She hated this food. She hated this hideous wedding dress she spend weeks sewing, just to be abandoned 3 days before the wedding. She hated him. She hated him. She hated Kafei.
No matter how much flavorless porridge she stuffed down her throat, the lump in it didn't go away. Soon enough, she was brought to tears. She tried to swallow in between heavy sobs. It was overwhelming. It was cruel. Suddenly she stood, raising the bowl in her right hand, ready to splatter its contents all over that wedding dress. To bring an end to it all. Standing there with her arm in the air, frowning deeply, ready to ruin her dress, tears streaming down her red cheeks.
She couldn't bring herself to do it.
Something had stopped her. Her pounding heart tightened in her chest. Slowly, she lowered her arm, setting the bowl down, never taking her eyes off that white dress.
I don't…. hate him.
Even if she truly wanted to, she could not hate the man she had loved so deeply, for so long. She felt weak. There was a silk of faith draping somewhere within her empty spirit. However gentle, it was still there, and it had stopped her from ruining the one thing in the room that blatantly reminded her of her suffering.
He did not run off with Cremia. He did not run off anywhere. Kafei had always been kind. He was sincere. Accusing him of running off was easier than accepting the fact that maybe… something had happened to him. Anju sank back into her linens, now in fear. Warm tears still trickling down her face. The unsettling feeling of the unknown, the worry, the anxiety, it was swallowing her body whole.
"Kafei…" She whimpered his name aloud. Thirty days had passed since his disappearance. Thirty days had passed since she uttered his name.
She retreated into a shell, holding onto her knees and burying her face. She let herself cry. She let her heart ease into a steady beat again. After calming down, her eyes reflected the dress once more. Not knowing what happened to her fiancé rotted her insides. But giving up entirely was not something she would allow herself to do. She would hold on to whatever small hope she had left, until it completely dried out. Only then, when she could no longer feel, would she succumb into cold-heartedness. Now, there was work to be done. Time waited for no one.
Anju forced herself to get up from the bed, head to the basin, and splash cold water on her face, denying that any tears had run down her features. She looked into the mirror while drying her skin.
Go downstairs. The day goes on. There's work to be done.
And so she did. After fixing her bangs and straightening her skirt, Anju headed back down to the front desk. The dancer was still pacing her way through the Inn. A repetitive tune could be heard coming from the room the troupe was staying in. For some reason it reminded Anju of a rainy day.
As if on cue, once she returned to the counter, the timely postman had walked through the door. His tight white shorts and vibrant red hat caused heads to turn all around town.
"Mail for Anju!" His voice was high and sharp.
That was strange. She never received personal letters anymore.
"For me?" She raised her brow.
"Ya!"
The postman handed her a letter sealed with a purple adhesive.
She stared at it intently, and he hands began to shake. There was something oddly familiar about this letter.
"Where… where did you get this?" She was in shock.
This purple adhesive… is it…!?
"From the postbox!" The postman was jogging in place, ready to leave and stay on his precise schedule.
"That's not what I mean." Anju fumbled with the letter, quickly opening it and scanning its contents. This handwriting… she recognized it immediately.
"From the postbox where?"
"From the postbox somewhere!"
"That's not what I mean…!"
Before she could ask him anything further, the postman made his swift exit.
Her pulse had quickened. She mouthed the simple words on the letter, as she read what was no doubt, Kafei's distinctly gentle handwriting.
My love, I pray I may be forgiven. Please wait for me.