Note:

Flashbacks and thoughts in italics

I do not condone or encourage any behaviors in this story. It is simply a fictional story.

"The Art Of Water"

CHAPTER 8

Out of His Hands

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The food felt like a lump in his throat as he seriously contemplated whether his efforts to hide themselves had been futile. But there is only so much he can do, so he gulps in a glass of water, waiting for the food to pass and the suffocation to let up. He did not wish for harm to befall them, but at this point, he might as well let it happen and go with the flow. If only someone slapped hard on his cheeks instantly, ordering him to wake up to the situation while he sat there numb, feeling his plans go south at breakneck speed.

No, it was not just any silly gossip. It is an apocalypse, rolling to them like an astronomical snowball. It is there to rewrite their futures on paper. It is there to weave the bonds and consolidate two powerful clans into one. Surprise to some and a threat to others. There is no fun in this, only big decisions and new beginnings in the world of sorcerers, and the world is always a small town.

Their aim is to create speculations about the pair as a part of persuading Gojo into the marriage. They could've called it a process of easing things up to lessen the impact when the inevitable happens, warnings and preparations before treating them with the real deal.

There was no room service. Seeing that it is no safer inside the building, Gojo took Miwa to the first restaurant they saw instead of parcelling food. It was a good one. For the most part, Miwa had no qualms with anything, even when she saw the menu stacked with spicy food. So for him, Gojo had ordered something mellow for breakfast while Miwa hissed from the hot mixture of meat and vegetables in her bowl.

It wasn't his intention. But Gojo failed at his mission. If he was being honest, he saw this coming and even smelled its heady scent from a mile away. He knew what this was: a mere strengthening of the outcomes to come, an excuse made by his clan for the Ashiyas to reject any other proposal other than theirs—the Gojo clan. The faint whiff of a romance between the heirs is a leverage opening windows of opportunities for the respective groups. That said, no gain without pain. And it is not lost on Gojo that they would be the ones who would bear the pain. He did not sign up for this, and he was sure neither did she.

What was the point again? Yeah, he is experiencing a moment of disbelief, a concussion wave that has given him cold feet, and come what may, something he will not admit feeling. In this very instant, catching sight of Nobara and Maki in the restaurant may send Miwa's head spinning. With that in mind, Gojo took extra care to keep his glare fixated on the plate of food and not behind her head, where, divided by tawny, translucent curtains, two people spied them from behind the shrubbery.

The couple seemed to be in the restaurant since there weren't many Chinese ones open on this particular day. Maki liked Chinese food, and her girlfriend thought it was nice to eat something different.

Just Great. Gojo sat frozen, wondering if he should explain the situation to them, but Maki had that murderous look on her face. It wasn't wise to move his head, not the slightest if he wanted to avoid a commotion. It took horse sense for him to figure out the ideas turning wheels in their heads. He wiped his lips with a tissue, letting his students mistake he was on a date with Miwa Kasumi, a student and a teacher on an escapade. He did try, but the clan beat him his time.

Gojo should've taken more measures. How could he unhesitatingly ignore that Nobara could perhaps grab that one mission in Shirakawa of all the others on the papers he had handed them? It was her homeland, after all. And now, things have gotten out of his hands.

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Origami floated in the air, whispering the past of the woman who folded them. On the floor laid a limp hand, a pink paper plane in the palm. Her clothes had a soapy scent, crisp and ironed for a new day. The child cried over the body of her mother. Is this really the end? Mother, the purest love of her life, is dead. What is the purpose of her life?

Miwa didn't want to eat or sleep properly for months. She felt broken. Her body weighed like a corpse. She didn't feel like eating and couldn't sleep. Later, she got forcefully fed by her brother when he grew concerned about her health and worried about losing anyone else. After the death, she and her brothers stayed with her aunt for a few months before they got burdened and threw them out of the house. Their only relative took pity on them and got Miwa a small job in a bakery. It was the countryside and pure luck; nothing would have been possible in Tokyo. No one wishes to get caught for child labour. Her brother also ran small errands for a local landlord and helped with small tasks in a mechanics shop. And that's how they survived.

There were times when one wished to die. You cry over and over again, knowing that no one really cares. She's no stranger to such things. Why would one want to live a life where you don't have the will to live? It is a sour feeling. It is not in any way or form "good." Sacrifices made no sense, selflessness felt even more foolish, and the values her mother had beaten into her pulled one after another out of her body like nails hammered into the bark of wood logs.

Now, losing sanity is in no way a pleasant experience, even in the context of pleasure-inducing drugs. But shaving off each layer of a big fat lie cake is like undoing black magic spells.

Now Miwa knew because the one who undoes, and seeks, becomes the master of what unwinds. That's how she went from the bystander of the spell to the witch who casts it. The witch can and will decide the kind of spell she wants to flick.

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