First thing first… Many thanks to all the reviewers: Phantom'sJediBandieGirl (Pooja is not a senator, she wants to be a writer. About how her family's killed, I'll explain it in this chapter. Thanks for caring :D), Jedi X-Man Serena Kenobi, passon, AMBERLEAH, and Kenobifan. Your words mean so much to me. I hope you'll still enjoy reading the next chapters. Don't worry, they won't be many, the chapters. He he!

Without further ado, here is chapter 3. I decided to update it early, since Christmas is coming and holiday is coming and final exams are coming, too! yikes Anyway, do enjoy…

3

Just like she promised, Pooja came to Tatooine again the following year. Obi Wan noticed that she hadn't changed much even when months had passed since her first visit. She dressed the way… Well, the way all artists would dress. A little reckless, yet charming and charismatic in the same way. As she stepped in to the hut, Obi Wan couldn't help but reminiscing how she could take the bad news –the ones about Anakin- really well. He found out now that Pooja was the type of a person who lived solely for arty part of world and cared not for its sinister side; the side filled with politics and war. She did yearn the time when the Empire would fall apart and would do anything to bring it into pieces -just like it had torn apart her home, created famine in the planet, and thus, killed her family and many others-, but she preferred to do it quietly and, of course, artfully.

"I did some research on both of them," she confessed all of a sudden.

When Obi Wan was just eyeing her, for he didn't understand what she meant (she was indeed a writer, not a talker), she proceeded, "Padme. And Anakin. I did some research on them."

"Why?" asked Obi Wan.

"Well, that's a secret," she smiled mysteriously, while sipping the tea from her cup, "it has been a pretty hard trick, doing those researches, but thanks to you, I just pick up where you left of,

"If Anakin was 9 when they first met and they had parted for 10 years, then he must be 19 when they saw each other again. I will be 20 next month. That makes me as old as he was when he fell in love."

Obi Wan didn't understand the purpose of this conversation, or why Pooja should bring it up, but he never stopped listening to her nevertheless. Still, he didn't know what her intentions were when she asked him, "What were her last words?"

"Her words," he answered promptly, "her words were of goodness, because that's what she was,

"'There's still good in him,' she repeatedly said that to me; thus I know, she wanted me to spare his life. Even her last words were of him,

"That's how much your aunt loved."

That year, Pooja stayed there for a week. After she left -of course, after Obi Wan had shown her Luke from the distance-, Obi Wan didn't hear anything about her, but that was only until she came back the next year.

"How's your book?"

Their times were usually spent by… As a matter of fact, nothing. They enjoyed having nothing to say or do but drinking their tea. Yet, once in a while, one of them would spill out a question or statement and a conversation would follow. This time, it was Obi Wan's turn to ask.

"How's your book? You said you wanted to write. I haven't seen any book with your name on it."

"My book is a work in progress," she replied, without even turning her eyes from the paper she was reading.

"Really?" questioned Obi Wan, his eyebrows raised. "What's the story, then?"

"Well, I can't tell you that, can I?"

"No, you can't."

He let his curiosity mingled for the next 2 weeks; that was the length of time Pooja needed to stay at Tatooine that year. Still, it swirled around him for days and days and weeks and months, and before he knew it, another year had passed and Pooja had knocked the door again.

The third year of her annual visit -for it had been three years when Pooja had shocked him by showing up in his humble abode- she spent 3 weeks in Obi Wan's hut. During that time, Obi Wan perceived how her face had brighten more than before. At first, he thought it was because of Luke –both of them had accidentally met in the market a couple of days before-, but then the light stayed on. And she smiled more widely and her eyes sparked more lively. Obi Wan noticed all of this, but never knew the real reason. He kept it in his mind for weeks, then one day, he found the answer.

He was walking in the same market where they had passed Luke, when he felt like going to a stall. It was crowded with a lot of papers; newspapers, probably, some of them were magazines; old and new, and at the corner, were books. He grabbed one of them and smiled abruptly when he read the author's name on the cover, "Pooja Naberrie."

So, he thought, this is why she kept smiling to herself. She knew her book would be published soon. So she made it.

Soon after he reached the hut, he started to open the book. First the cover, then the first page. The dedication note was written there. The first line said: "To Ben."

He smiled to himself, reading the letters. But it was marred a little after he had read the name below his. The second line was read: "To Marius."

He contemplated the name for a moment, so certain he had heard it before. Pooja had once mentioned it, yes, he remembered. The first year of her visit, she said she would stay with him. She said he was her great friend.

The reminiscence disturbed him for a reason he himself couldn't explain. Who is he? What is he to her? But he tried to wash the questions away; he wanted to read. So, slowly he began to turn the next page. Chapter one. Then the next page. Then the next and next and then the last. When he closed back the book, the suns were already set. And for the first time since he perused the title and the author's name, he felt starving. God knows how many hours he had passed to read the book. It seemed to him as interesting as the writer.

He was familiar with the storyline. Actually, it would be absurd if he weren't. The story was about forbidden lovers. A young woman met a man, they fell in love, but they couldn't be together. In the end, the woman died. The plot and the description of the characters were not so much different from the real ones. Only the names; the characters', the planet's, were changed. However, there was something different from this book. The man –who was clearly, the alter ego of Anakin- wasn't becoming evil and a Sith. Instead, he lived on. He fulfilled his promise to his lover; to stay living and tell the rest of the galaxy that true love exists by writing their story. That, however it had been crushed, love would prevail. The message behind it was clear: If you held on to your love, to the memory you loved, you wouldn't let yourself be conquered by anything or anyone. Simply said, you should fight against the Emperor.

He put the book on the table beside him and waited for the day when Pooja would come knocking on his door again. But, apparently, the day wouldn't come. The year changed and Obi Wan was just thinking to himself, how long will Pooja stay now, when a deliveryman appeared before him. He handed Obi Wan the thing inside his coat; a holographic message from Pooja, saying she had to be somewhere else and, to her greatest grief, had to postpone the visit.

Obi Wan completely understood. Her book was a success everywhere. Obviously, the Emperor was too careless to discern the hidden message inside; therefore it was safe for her to promote her work. He couldn't deny, though, that he was a bit disappointed. He had expected to discuss the book together with the writer herself. What's more, he was wondering whether she would prolong her visiting days this year. It was one day at the first year, a week at the second, then 2 weeks, 3 weeks… Who knows? Maybe she would stay for a month this year. But, of course, he wouldn't know.

He erased the anxiety by opening the book once more. It must be his four times. But, wait, isn't last week his fifth time? Oh, he didn't know how many times he had read this book. Too much time had he turned the pages. And without he knew it, time had slipped away and a new year had come.

Knock knock.

He quickly jumped out of his chair as sudden as the knocking was heard. Hectically, he pulled the door handle. It burst opened and Pooja was behind it.

He swiftly pleaded her to come in, yet, oddly, she refused. Still standing on the doorway, she said, "Let's not come inside,

"Please, come with me."