A part of me wished I could take up his offer, to get together with someone whose kindly disposition remains unfailingly true in spite of legal difficulty thrust upon him unknowingly by the doings of his goodwill.
… but I cannot.
He does not have the remotest answers to my questions - he is unsure of what he intends out of our relationship, both in the present and future, the particulars of seeing together and maintaining intimacy.
(And I am excepting his family’s weight on this matter, the nature of our stations in the trial, and what the commonfolk’s view would be of it.)
I have seen too many forsake their fortune, their family, for a woman whose life momentarily intersects with his. I cannot let him take the same roadway.
>“Give the thought a couple more years - see if it clarifies, if it does, and we do meet again, we will continue this discussion.” With an exhale, I gently let him down.
When he is older; his finances more earthfast, his intentions more clear, and his autonomy less constrained, then, mayhaps. He is endearing.
“I- I’ll-”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Thanks for... everything, ma’am.” Kommgal’s gaze returns to me as tears dissipate from his cheeks.
“…”
“Here. Take it.” Without much left to say, I hand him a trade card; the perfume has long withered away, and the tinge is more yellow than it ought to be, but the writing of my services, and more chiefly, the location of my brewery, is still in good quality.
“U-uhm.” Holding tightly onto the card, he ponders. “Miss Neeranara. You said you would leave by the month’s end. If you do not disgust, may I see you again, tomorrow?” Ah. The boldness of youth! It coaxes a chuckle out of me, and a nod.
( … )
The morning wind bellows endlessly as we furl and tie up the last of the straw mats. Arisa is still sleeping. My hair flutters less and less as the day passes. My lips grow dry and numb.
( .. surely. surely not.)
I don’t believe he would be the sort to intentionally mislead me. A sudden obligation is more likely, most likely, even. But I refuse to leave the matter off. Making use of rice wine at all - is - better than leaving it collecting dust, I suppose.
Beneath this deluge of whispers and shouts lie distilled sentences and thoughts. The torrent quelled just as speedily as it was summoned — leaving only regret and flusteration in my mind.
Dangers from the material and immaterial, that much I could intervene, but the aftermath of a family’s quarreling, less so. Especially when the matter was which I had discussed: his future employment. I suppose if it was not earthfast enough to withstand an inquiry, it would not satisfy his parents.