What a Small Quadrant

A room dedicated to meditation did not sound so out of place, considering that they were in Vulcan. It was early morning, so it would be empty. Therefore, Sarek decided that leaving his room to meditate might help him focus and get out of the containment.

He hadn't been able to meditate properly since his arrival to Vulcan.

Vulcan was his home planet.

Shi'kahr was the city that had seen him grow up. Perhaps, it was illogical, and too emotional to expect him to feel a certain way about being back in his hometown. But the otherness he conveyed was bizarre.

It felt exactly as it did when he was assigned his position on Earth. So alien, different and unpleasant.

It was almost as if he had never been there in his life.

"May I join you?"

Varek's whispering voice broke Sarek's rambling thoughts.

He wasn't actually meditating.

He was sitting in the middle of the room. Staying in his room had acquired an unsettling undertone, since he firmly believed someone had been there without his consent.

"Of course. This is a public space," Sarek replied.

Varek shook his head and added in a whispering voice, "I do not intend to disrupt your meditation, but stepped in unannounced it is not appropriate either."

"It is no matter, Varek," Sarek said without facing his assistant.

"Thank you."

Varek positioned himself at the other end of the room and he felt forced to observe him.

He looked so balanced and in control of himself that Sarek felt a twinge of jealousy.

When Varek opened his eyes, Sarek noticed that the clock on the wall indicated that an hour and a half had passed. He had spent ninety minutes observing the void without being able to even spin a coherent thought.

"Are you well, Ambassador?" His youthful voice sounded like a screech that brought him out of his lethargy.

That poisonous feeling of jealousy vanished as soon as he saw a glimmer of confusion sparkle in Varek's dark eyes.

"Yes."

"Are you certain?" Varek insisted, examining him with inquisitive eyes.

Sarek suppressed his desire to ask him to cease looking at him like that.

"Why the insistence?" Sarek replied with defensive tone.

"Your complexion has gradually become paler since you first arrived. It would be beneficial to your state of health to visit a physician," he said in a flat tone before leaving the room.

Ⱄ Ⱄ Ⱄ

"Why nobody reported his disappearance?" Detective Wallace queried, after hearing his husband, Thomas Wyatt discussing his current case with his friend and partner, Mara Saavedra.

His case seemed as stalled as his own. So, Wallace understood the frustration that came as a result of being at one dead end after another.

"His co-worker did," Wyatt answered, turning to acknowledge his presence.

"No. I mean, like a friend," he insisted. "If you were to disappear, Mara would notice it. So, as a friend, she would try to—you know— check on you to know if you're okay."

It was strange. It always seemed to him that Vulcans lived on the outside of any potential problem. He was not even sure that he had ever heard of anyone having to write a single Vulcan name on a police report prior to that year.

"He has a point. Why didn't anyone report it before his co-worker?"

"She said he was very secretive," Wyatt remembered her.

"Yes, he was. But secretive doesn't mean asocial," she countered. "The Andorian boy told us that the last time he was in the store he was with a friend."

"We don't know if they were friends. The guy didn't seem to be the friendliest person in the universe."

Saavedra nodded while drinking the remains of her canned drink.

As far as Wallace knew, from what he had heard both of them talking, the victim had bought things for the so called friend. Therefore, they must have had some kind of relationship.

It was strange that he had not been reported missing until his colleague noticed.

He may have been a rude asshole, but he was not an asocial being. Like the majority of the people, regardless of species.

"You both said he bought this guy expensive shoes. I wouldn't be paying shit for anyone unless I care about them."

"I totally forgot about that," Wyatt admitted serving himself another serving of Wonton soup.

"We will have to look for this friend of his. All we know about him is that he's young, Vulcan and he knew this guy," Saavedra said. "If we discard the V'tosh Ka'tur, it could still be anyone."

"How do you know he wasn't one of those?

"His photos tell me he was a Suraki Vulcan. So, it's logical to think that he only hung out with people like him."

"You don't know that," Wallace intervened.

"Have you been to the alien district? They're like water and oil!" Saavedra remarked.

"That doesn't mean enmity," Wyatt said.

"We don't know that either," she argued. "There's no way he was messing around with emotional Vulcans. Just take a look at the pictures. He was career focused."

Wyatt sighed in frustration.

"This whole case is a nightmare," Wyatt complained, observing the screen of his PADD going dark. "Nobody knows anything about him. The guy was a fucking Vulcan ghost. If it wasn't for the fact that we saw him, I'd start thinking he never existed."

"Did you search his apartment?" Wallace asked, by swallowing a portion of noodles.

"No, not yet," Saavedra answered, shaking her head and taking a spoonful of her food.

"We'll get the warrant in a few days, but I bet you what you want we'll go, we'll check the whole place and won't find anything."

"You don't know that."

"I hope I'm wrong," Wyatt said, standing up to get another soft drink from the refrigerator.

Saavedra followed Wyatt with her eyes. When he disappeared behind the doorway, she turned to Wallace.

"What about your case? Tom told me that you were also assigned a case of a missing Vulcan boy," she inquired.

"Pretty much the same. His friends reported him missing a month after he was last seen," he answered stirring the noodles in the bowl half-heartedly.

Wallace had almost forgotten that his almost was also stalled. Likewise, it seemed that the missing person had vanished from the face of the Earth without a trace.

Like a ghost.

A Vulcan ghost.

"Oh."

He watched the noodles move in the broth and thought about the boy.

Where could he have gone? Would someone have taken him away this time? He wondered.

There was no answer to those questions… Yet.

"His friends were very vague about it, but I think he had untreated mental illness," Wallace said. "One of them mentioned he was seeing things. I don't know if he meant it literally but, if I'm honest, I think I'm looking for a body. Usually these kinds of cases don't end well. There is a strong possibility that he committed suicide."

"That's terrible."

"It is," he agreed.

Ⱄ Ⱄ Ⱄ

Amanda woke up agitated, but relieved to know that Sarek was alive somewhere in the universe.

Maybe, she shouldn't have seen the news before she went to sleep. Her days were reduced to worrying about things she saw in the media and drinking two-day old stale tea with the curtains drawn.

Recent bad news indicated that an extremist had immolated himself and killed fifty people on the Terran moon two days ago. This time, it was not a children's school, but a university focused on language learning.

At first, she had thought it absurd, not to forget how horrible the act itself was.

However, after remembering that they were seeking to ensure the cultural and ideological purity of Vulcan, she acknowledged that the learning of alien languages could be perceived as external contamination.

She could even see it reflected in Sarek and the Vulcans at the embassy.

One of Sarek's aides, T'suk, had left to embrace the emotion like a V'tosh ka'tur. Amanda had witnessed how the outside influence had changed her to the point where she decided to give up everything that she had been taught was the right way to exist. That was often considered the only way to be a Vulcan.

When her agitation subsided, he turned to pick up her phone and check the time.

Amanda looked at the last message she had received from Sarek.

She clicked on the tiny red heart-shaped emoji on the screen, only to realize that she had not responded.

Sarek, she typed and hit sent. Then, added a smiling face to appear casual.

A small bubble in the chat indicated that Sarek was writing.

Ashayam, he replied.

The loneliness and silence of the house had given her enough space to form hundreds of scenarios in her mind. This only fed Amanda's growing impatience with the situation.

When are you coming back? she wrote without much thought.

There a moment where she assumed Sarek was writing and them, his response popped up in the screen.

I do not know. The Vulcan High Council did not provide me with that information. I must wait for the arrival of the ambassador.

Amanda exhaled, forcing herself to sound rational.

Are you sure?

Yes.

She narrowed her eyes, realizing how bright the light of the screen was.

She looked around and realized she was completely surrounded by darkness. She covered herself with the brown blanket in her bed and replied.

Don't you think it's strange that you were asked to travel so far in advance?

There was hesitation again and then, he answered;

Those are the orders I received.

But she pushed.

You are the ambassador to Earth, Sarek.

Amanda could almost hear her mother's voice questioning Sarek through her the same way she would do to her. She felt a stab of guilt, but she still wanted to know.

I am aware.

As if her mother had taken the phone away from her, she continued the interrogatory.

Why didn't you ask me to go with you? You have to go back, Sarek.

Amanda regretted the way she had worded it. She sounded demanding, almost controlling.

I will do so when the mission is over.

Amanda meant to write 'okay' and put the subject aside, but by the time she realized it, she had already written and sent an answer as persistent as the previous one.

Someone else can do that.

No. The Council assured that the ambassador expressly asked the Federation to speak to me. Otherwise the negotiations would be cancelled.

Why?

The chat window indicated that he was typing and then, silence. As if he didn't know what to say about it.

I do not know.

Amanda frowned.

She looked at the digital clock on the bedside table and realized that it must be late there. She typed a short goodbye message and left the phone in the drawer.

Ⱄ Ⱄ Ⱄ

In summer, Shi'kahr did not differ much from those tourist destinations in the tropics of Earth that humans from less arid areas enjoyed visiting so much.

Sarek didn't understand it.

It seemed to him that it was another one of those illogical things that humans like to do. He didn't see anything enjoyable about being in a place which environmental characteristics differed so much from those of his birthplace.

It was clear that that time of year had arrived. That afternoon, he realized how many foreigners there were when he returned from another social event he did not want to attend.

He looked around as he waited for his food and noticed a human woman looking straight at him.

Human tourists were less cautious.

Sarek could've sworn that he had seen a group of young people take a picture of him when they thought he wasn't paying attention in the lobby. It never bothered him before. But for some reason, that time it felt like he was an exotic specimen inside a zoo on Earth.

He looked away and concentrated on the basket of Vulcan bread that the waiter had brought him. He felt like leaving to dine alone in his room, but that would mean having to go to the counter and cancel his order, which felt like a very awkward move.

Normally, he enjoyed eating with his aides, but the last few days he felt jaded by so much unnecessary social interaction. It was exhausting enough having to attend all kinds of boring events while waiting for the arrival of that alien Ambassador that the Vulcan High Council stated would only talk to him and no one else.

They hadn't even bothered to tell him the name, but he didn't mind. It was not his job to ask any questions, only to follow orders and to serve his people.

"Terran tomato soup," the waiter said in a flat tone, placing the white bowl of steamy soup in front of him.

"Your service honors me," he answered in a quiet voice.

The soup smelled like raw meat and the natural red tint of the Terran tomatoes made it look like Sarek had ordered a bowl of human blood. This vision was repulsive to him. The pieces of tomato in the broth only accentuated that feeling.

On the regular, he found the subtle, acidic taste of that dish pleasant compared to the overwhelming excess of flavor in most Terran cuisine. For some reason, everything tasted awfully. Also, he felt unable to eat almost anything without feeling sick afterwards.

The smell of the juicy filet of the man on the nearest table made his stomach growl. Sarek realized that he was indeed hungry, but not for bland and boring vegetables floating on a bowl of tasteless acid broth.

He caught himself craving a piece of meat.

He observed the human man cutting the soft flesh with a shiny piece of clutter. Sarek feel unable to look away when the man was cutting the flesh with such care. It was a rather satisfactory experience realize how smoothly the sharp knife slide on the flesh like Terran butter.

"It is everything on order, sir?" A young Vulcan waiter asked. "May I offer you anything else? A drink? Bread?"

Sarek was slow to understand that the waiter was addressing him. It took him a couple of seconds to look away from the other diner and turn to talk to the waiter.

"Oh," the waiter said. His face changed to a subtle apprehensive expression once he realized that Sarek was drooling for a piece of meat. "That dish contains meat, Ambassador."

Sarek looked the waiter in the eye with a hint of annoyance.

The humans at the adjoining tables would not have noticed because of the subtlety of the change in his expression, but it was an obvious gesture from one Vulcan to another.

"I do not require anything at this time," he finally said.

The waiter bowed his head and disappeared among the crowd, back to the kitchen.

He forced himself to sit upright and took a spoonful of his tomato soup.

True to his prediction, it tasted horrible. It was as if it was bitter, salty and insipid at the same time. It tasted like a raw tomato. Even when it was of a deep reddish color, and he was convinced that this tonality became that vegetable with the proper cooking.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could discern the stare of a diner at a table full of human tourists.

Sarek looked back and the man looked away, as if he had been burned by that gesture.

Ⱄ Ⱄ Ⱄ

Dr. Kayla Trent was straightforward, in a way that was comforting.

Varith asked himself why he hadn't taken therapy before. At first, he had been uncomfortable with the prospect of getting too personal with a stranger. In the end it had been liberating in a very strange way.

"He said that he recognized his voice."

"Whose voice?" she prompted.

"The voice of the extremist who bombed the Terran Children's Institute."

Varith had not stopped to think about it after reading it for the first time. That phrase had returned to him after a horrible night of nightmares after skipping meditation for days. The prospect of Velekh recognizing someone who had done something horrible like that made him wonder what kind of people he had been surrounded by in his early life.

"You said in a previous session that Velekh shared this information with T'Mirek, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did."

"What did she say?"

"That I was projecting my problems and I wanted to think that they... that they were here."

"What do you think about that?" the therapist asked. "Do you think this is true?"

"That there are extremists here?"

The therapist nodded.

He folded his hands in his lap, meditating on that inquiry for a moment.

"Perhaps," he said, uncertain.

The truth was that no one could be sure of anything. There was no sign of extremists, but neither could he prove anything that had not happened.

At that point, perhaps not even Velekh knew. It didn't matter how confident he was of his ability to distinguish extremists from ordinary traditional Surak followers.

"Have you seen them?"

He shook his head, as he saw his own distorted reflection in a decorative piece composed of a series of round mirrors of various sizes that was next to him.

"No, but... I do not think Velekh was lying."

But that didn't mean that Velekh had actually seen it either. It only meant that he believed that he had seen them or that they were on the planet living among them. Especially when nothing indicated that there had ever been an extremist on Earth.

Velekh was fucked up.

Varith didn't know what had happened to him. But he had seen with his own eyes the consequences of whatever it was that scared him so much that he sent everything to hell and left Vulcan.

It was the kind of thing that fucked up someone's perspective on the world for the rest of their life.

"I am not sure if there are extremists here on Earth, but I do know that they have extended their jurisdiction."

That was a conclusion he had taken on his own, way before Velekh's claims about extremist on Earth. The incidents had started to take place different locations and it was terrifying to think how easy they could blend in everywhere and nobody would notice something was wrong until it was already too late.

"How did you come to that conclusion?"

Varith stared at her, almost confused. He had plenty of motives to make that assessment, but it was difficult to verbalize it.

"The recent attacks are in areas farther away from Vulcan. I think they have understood that it is not sufficient to maintain a 'pure' home planet. Balev said that they could not tolerate external interference."

"What do you think it means?"

"It rather obvious," he pointed out.

"Elaborate, please," Dr. Trent asked him.

Varith nodded and took a moment to word what he wanted to say.

"We are volatile, Dr. Trent. You humans have a say, 'war is what happens when language fails'. They have been speaking against The Federation—since it is perceived a constants source of negative outer influence—and they have realized that speaking is not enough to stop said contamination."

Ⱄ Ⱄ Ⱄ

T'Mirek had been editing articles from the social section during weeks. It was boring as hell, but at least she didn't have to read a bunch of bad news over and over again.

She realized that somehow Varith had tried to repair Velekh as if that would fix his own unresolved issues. It hurt her to think that the two of them could have done something more to help him. Nonetheless, she was aware that they had barely been able to adapt themselves to living on a completely different planet where they would never fully fit in.

Varith would be in therapy during that afternoon. So, she thought an afternoon of leisure with her friends wouldn't hurt, to clear up some of the depressing atmosphere that Velekh's disappearance had brought into their lives.

Stonn, true to his snobby tastes, had chosen one of those restaurants that served tiny portions of food on huge plates located on Pacific Avenue. She had even dressed for the occasion, wearing Terran-style makeup, a dress with a heart-shaped neckline and a pair of golden earrings.

The way the lady at one of the tables at the other end of the restaurant was looking at her was making her nervous. Perhaps, she was seeing her because she was alone, covered in tattoos or because of her pointy ears.

For some reason the natives of Earth were very curious about the shape of their ears. Even though they were physically very similar.

When she saw Stonn in the distance, she breathed out with relief.

"T'Mirek," Stonn greeted when he arrived, followed by T'Leia, Sasek and another woman she had never seen before. "And Varith?"

"He couldn't come. He's a little busy. You know, writing stuff."

Stonn seemed to understand what he really meant and nodded without further insistence. He was the only person who knew that Varith had decayed after Velekh's disappearance.

T'Mirek turned to the unknown woman and waved to her.

"Hello."

Stonn stepped aside to let her pass so T'Mirek could get a better look at her. "I brought a new friend. I hope you don't mind."

T'Mirek shook her head.

"Not at all. The more the merrier, right?"

"This is T'suk," Stonn indicated, holding T'suk by the shoulders. "T'suk, this is T'Mirek."

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

T'Mirek looked at her and felt like she was seeing herself twenty years earlier. T'suk was young and still seemed to be slightly intimidated by the chaotic style of the Earth.

"Same," she said.

Everyone took a seat at the table and a waiter quickly brought more menus to everybody.

It did not go unnoticed that T'suk was absorbed, watching the place and the other diners with curiosity.

"Have you just arrived on Earth?" T'Mirek queried, without wanting to sound too invasive.

"Oh, no," T'suk answered. "I've been living here for a while. But I'm a neophyte V'tosh ka'tur."

"T'suk used to work at the Vulcan embassy," Stonn said, leafing through the menu.

"Really?" T'Leia asked, arching a curious eyebrow.

T'suk nodded, while placing the cutlery in the left side of her plate.

"Yes, I was one of the ambassador's personal aides."

"Wow. It's a small quadrant," Sasek said, clear bewilderment in his voice.

"I now work at the firm with Stonn."

"She helps us in the writing department," Stonn added.

"It's very similar to the work I used to do with the ambassador. The other assistant and I were writing, reviewing, and sending official written responses to other diplomats on the regular."

That must have been a stressful job all around, she told herself as she set the shiny silverware on the table.

T'Mirek was curious about what her life had been like before she decided to give up everything for a worldly life on Earth. Of all the V'tosh ka'tur she had met in her two decades on the planet, none had worked for the government.

"I hope you are enjoying this new job," T'Mirek said, trying to sound friendly. "When I arrived, I was lost. The good thing that you had been living here for a while. For me it was all at once. New planet, people, language and job."

T'suk nodded. Meanwhile, Stonn and Sasek where speaking between them, pretending they had any idea of what Gnocchi or Fettuccine meant.

"Mrs. Grayson and my ex-colleague helped me a lot to understand what life on Earth is like. The transition has been relatively easy thanks to their efforts. I'm grateful."

"Do you mean Amanda Grayson?" Sasek interjected, leaving aside the menu.

T'Mirek thought it was funny. Sasek was a gossiper and was always willing to hear good gossip, even when he didn't know who was involved.

"Yes, she was very kind to me at the time."

"She seems to be a very sweet woman from what T'suk says about her. A pity that the press destroys her every time she dares to breathe in public," Stonn agreed, exchanging a short glance with T'suk and then, returned back to examining the menu in his hands.

None of those involved in that marriage had been spared the cruelty of public scrutiny. Even the Ambassador had received his share of it.

She found it intriguing how the Terran public had received the event. It was not particularly momentous in itself, since interspecies marriage had increased in recent years.

"My human neighbor says that the press is a heartless bitch," Sasek said.

"A crude analogy," T'Mirek pointed out.

"But an accurate one," T' Leia added.

"The Terran culture is fascinating because of this," Stonn replied. "Feelings are above facts."

"I am intrigued by the myriad ways in which the press on this planet can overanalyze a situation or portray it negatively to tempt the curiosity of others," Sasek said.

"In some versions, Mrs. Grayson is portrayed as a villain out of some piece of fiction that is motivated by monetary gain or fame. In other media, she is a victim of an alien fetishist," T'Leia agreed.

"I assure you that none of these representations are truthful," T'suk stated in a flat tone.

There was silence.

Sasek looked at them all and T'Mirek knew he must have heard something.

"Did you hear the news?" Sasek said, putting aside the menu and leaning as if he intended to share a secret. "Remember the Vulcan found in the bay? Well, everything indicates that he was not just someone. It seems that he was an important person within a huge hotel service corporation."

"Oh, no. I haven't seen the news lately," T'Leia quickly answered.

"I didn't hear about it in the media," he let her know. "I was told."

T'suk arched an eyebrow in disbelief, and then added, "I have not seen anything reported about him since it was announced that he had been found."

"I have my own sources," he replied. "As Terrans say, it's a small world."

"They say someone killed him," he added in a whispering voice.

"Why would somebody do that?" T'Leia wondered, almost horrified.

"Yeah. What does your sources say about that?" T'Mirek teased him, imitating his previous way to indicate he had his sources.

Sasek meditated for a brief moment.

T'Mirek understood such gesture as he didn't know the reason.

"Here on Earth…It could be for anything. I once saw in the crime channel that a man killed another man because he scratched his car when he parked."

T'Mirek shuddered at the thought of the brutality of that response to something as trivial as accidentally scratching someone's car. Some individuals seemed to be one bad day away from going crazy, and that was very frightening

"Hum. I don't think it was that kind of crime."

"That would not happen at home," Stonn said. "I think I will order Penne with vegan Arrabbiata sauce."

Her heart turned over.

Sometimes she wondered if she still had the right to call Vulcan home, being who she was and how she had decided to live her life.

"I doubt that you even know what Arrabbiata sauce is, Stonn," T'Leia said.

"Indeed, but it sounds interesting."

It was horrible and unfair to those involved. But as unpleasant as that had been, T'Mirek recognized the confidence with which writers, columnists and journalists could speak in public.

That wouldn't happen at home either.

Ⱄ Ⱄ Ⱄ

As soon as the search warrant was granted, Wyatt and Saavedra rushed with a team of forensic investigators to the victim's apartment.

It was exactly as they thought it would be.

It was so spacious and elegant. It almost looked like a house and, it made the apartment where Wyatt lived look like a decaying mousetrap.

The subtle pinewood scent Wyatt sensed once the front door opened let him know that someone had cleaned the place recently. This was not unusual among wealthy people. However, if he had been murdered there, it was likely that the cleaning staff had inadvertently disposed of some evidence.

He was discouraged by that.

"The vase there alone costs more than my shoes," Saavedra joked when they stepped into the living room. "You were right. He was wasting his money as if his life was going to be spent on it."

Wyatt nodded.

Indeed, he thought.

"How strange, don't you think?" Saavedra wondered. "Consumerism doesn't sound very logical."

"That's the least strange thing about it all."

The living room was spacious and decorated in a minimalist way. Most of the furniture was in opaque shades ranging from pale gray to black.

The place had a modern Terran style with some small decorative touches with elements of the late tenant's Vulcan culture. Almost all of those decorative elements could be overlooked. Except for the egregious painting in the middle of the main wall that seemed to be on display.

The magnificence of the painting absorbed Wyatt's attention.

"It that a baby bear?" he asked, turning around to Saavedra who was taking a picture.

"It looks like it," she said, nonchalantly.

The painting consisted of a little baby bear with a pair of irises that looked golden. It looked peaceful, but fierce. Its pair of long white fangs stood out among its dark, lustrous brown fur.

"Well, as far I know, bears don't have fangs," he pointed out.

"Maybe, baby bears do have them and fall out when they grow up," she said playfully.

"Perhaps… but not on this planet," he added.

Perhaps in Vulcan, he wondered.

But he didn't know.

"It looks cute, though," Saavedra said, walking towards the painting to take a look. "He liked art, as well."

"It's a print," he said, half paying attention.

In one of the rectangular spaces where a flat screen was placed there was a collection of three vases of different colors with interesting patterns that he assumed to be Vulcan writing.

It looked a bit like the decorative mural he had seen when he went to talk to the victim's colleague. Would it be Vulcan writing or just an interesting design?

"No, isn't. If you look closely, you can see the brushstrokes."

Wyatt looked a little closer and could see the soft brushstrokes that made up the animal's fur. It had probably taken the artist forever to finish that piece, considering how detailed and realistic the overall composition looked.

Everything about it looked so unfamiliar and alien.

"I see."

"No signature," she noticed, exhaling. "What a pity. The artist has talent. This baby bear looks beautiful."

Although the reddish background showed a desert landscape, it did not look like an earthy one. The realistic and sober style of the painting made him think that it was not a fantastic creature on an imaginary landscape, but that an attempt had been made to depict a scene from an existing world.

"Please take pictures of the paintings as well," Saavedra asked a young man from the forensic team.

"Yes, Officer," the man answered and immediately, complied with Saavedra's request.

"Officer, we found a laptop in the bedroom."

Saavedra smiled, rubbing his hands together with restrained emotion.

"See?" she teased. "We did find something."

Wyatt smiled too and replied, "I'm glad I was wrong."

Hello everyone again! Thank you so much for coming back and reading this chapter. I'm very happy because the story already surpassed 50k words. That's more than I ever wrote in my native language and it makes me happy.

Special thanks to StarryEyes2000 for commenting on the last chapter!

Thank you very much for being here, take care of yourselves and stay safe.