It felt lonely without Hyraj. Amidst the sound of rain, I heard the other people living here wander through the hall, but I wanted to avoid them if possible. What happened with Mrs Frinchen was still fresh in my mind. Maybe it was immature, but I wasn’t really much of an adult yet, was I? All those years looking after the little ones didn’t help me grow up.

However, staying cooped up in that room was going to drive me crazy even if I could watch the rain. So, around midday, I shuffled down to the kitchen, listening for anyone else around. Fortunately, it was just the cook there.

She was a middle-aged woman, black hair with grey streaks poking out the sides of her sort of maid’s cap, skin a darkish brown not too different from mine. Her dress covered her from neck to ankles, would have gone down to her wrists if she hadn’t rolled them up. It looked like the same fabric as the pyjamas Hyraj bought me. A bit scratchy, but a nice fabric for the muggy heat, not sticking to my skin or leaving me feeling sweaty.

“Lunch is an hour, I’m just—” Turning around, she paused seeing me, a crinkle on her brow. “Ah, new niece”—she literally said niece, but it was what older people called young women—“you’re with the miss, eh? Soup and bread for lunch, two bowls?”

“Oh, ah… she is working? I don’t know, will she come back for lunch?”

She shooed with her hand. “Nah, they feed ’em over there. So just one?”

“Yes,” I said, tapping my finger, then remembered why I was here. “I…. Can I help?”

A snort of laughter escaped her, clicking her tongue after. “That is it, help, eh? They know, for all my years, never a customer want to help,” she said. “Well, there’s some small things.”

She wasn’t lying. The first job she gave me was washing hichkle, tub full of pea-potatoes still on the “vine”, covered in dirt. Still, it was better than being left in the room with only my thoughts for company.

While I worked, I also watched, learned. There was a chest freezer in the room, maybe more of a fridge? However cold it was inside, it seemed expensive, chained to the wall with a metal loop. I hadn’t seen any other sign of electricity, so wondered if it was magic. And it definitely did cool things, one of my tasks to chop up some of the hichjalt they grew on the farms, which was cold to the touch.

Her cooking was interesting too. She used a fruit that tasted like tomato, but was like an orange with a thick peel and in slices inside, and I recognised something like the onions I’d grown, but bigger and egg-shaped. Tomato, onion, carrot, potatoes—they all sounded good for a soup.

But there was more to it than throwing those all in together. She cooked the onions in boiling water for a couple of minutes, then puréed them and the tomatoes using a piece of cloth, squishing them through (well, she made me do that part).

Then there was the “stove”. I hadn’t helped Mrs Frinchen cook, so this was my first time seeing one being used. It didn’t look like it had an oven part, but the front did open to put coal (probably charcoal?) inside. The top then had circles of metal where she put the pot on to boil.

When it came to the next step, though, she used another stove that had a hole in the top, flames flickering through it. With a wok, she cooked some spices first—seeds and I definitely smelled the garlic-like smell—before adding the purée. That still wasn’t the end, mixing in other spices after a few minutes. Moving it to the other stove to simmer, she took out another wok. I couldn’t see well from behind her, but she fried the hichkle and hichjalt for a bit, a sweet smell in the air, then added some kind of batter she kept in a huge jug, pushing it together in the wok to make a fritter-looking thing.

They seemed to really like vegetable fritters here.

Whether or not she’d baked the bread herself, I didn’t know; either way, once done with the fritters, she cut up a loaf into wedges. No one else had done that, so I wondered if it was her style or maybe how it was done for this soup or soups in general.

Eating back in my room, I liked the meal. A lot of flavour. I still wasn’t sure why the wedge- shaped bread, though.

Once I finished, I went through and helped her wash up and, later in the afternoon, helped her cook again. Simple tasks that didn’t really matter, but I was happy just to watch. When Hyraj came back in the evening, well, she looked tired, so I left her to relax.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

That became my routine. In the morning, I braided Hyraj’s hair, then helped the cook with lunch and dinner.

Quiet days. Like the cook knew, she didn’t say much more than giving me tasks. Still didn’t know her name. Hyraj spoke a little, but more like she was checking I was fine, that I didn’t need something. From the little I asked her, I just knew that work was very busy now she wasn’t on her trial period.

Two days, three, four passed since we’d come here, still rain falling. Not as heavy as the first night, but it picked up at times, sometimes barely a trickle or even stopping for a couple hours. Really was the stormy season.

The days of the week didn’t mean anything to me, their names as weird as my world’s were. Still, waking up on “Saturday”, I had a happy thought about Hyraj having the day off.

Just that, as I sat up, I saw her dressed for work, brushing her hair. “Weekend?” I awkwardly said, best my sleepy brain could do.

“There is a little more work to do before the deadline,” she said, then stilled, resting the brush on her lap. “That is it… would you come with me today?”

I blinked, then immediately said, “Yes,” no questions necessary. If she wanted me to go, I knew she had a good reason.

She clapped with one hand and went back to brushing her hair, but I went over, taking the brush from her. For the few minutes it took, she sat still and I braided, then lifted it up and kept it in place with a smaller hair pin she’d bought, ready to sit snugly under her hat.

“There we go,” I said.

She chuckled. I wondered why, but she soon explained, saying, “You do have a way of saying some things.”

A blush threatened to come over me, cheeks hot. I hadn’t ever thought so much about those kinds of phrases as I did these days, but some still came out, sounding funny to her. “I’ll just get ready quick,” I muttered.

“No need to rush, the building is hardly going to run off,” she said.

I chuckled, but still rushed. There wasn’t much for me to do and I was fine with just bundling up my hair, a bit of twisting enough to get it sitting nicely my hat, then my jumper over the top to keep the rain off my shirt; a shawl kept my head dry and the trousers were kinda woolly too, not really getting wet.

Ready, we set off on the long walk… to the next building along the street. An iron fence (or another iron-looking metal) surrounded it, gate tied open. Probably clanged a lot in this wind. We strode through, a drizzle not enough for Hyraj to hurry, then stopped under a small canopy sort of thing? Like, the overhang above the door. There was space for the both of us to brush off the water and a metal grate on the floor for cleaning shoes, bits of mud clinging to it.

She knocked on the door while we dried ourselves. Soon, a nasally voice came from inside, saying, “To whom am I speaking?”

“Miss Hyraj and acquaintance.”

Not just unhurried and level, she spoke with… authority? I didn’t know how to explain it. Maybe the person inside knew what I meant, door opening. “Acquaintance, is it?” the man said—an old man, hair quite grey even though his face wasn’t too wrinkled.

“I thought to introduce her to Mr Arl,” Hyraj said.

Oh that made me curious, but I said nothing, just smiled, while those two finished their chat. Inside was like a reception, an open room with seats and a counter. A small room. What I noticed was the wooden floor, something the places I’d been so far hadn’t had. Maybe the clothing shop?

“Then, if we would be excused,” Hyraj said.

“Go on, go on,” he muttered, shuffling over to a chair.

Hyraj led the way through one of the doors into a much larger room—almost all of the first floor, it looked like. But it was like an office? On the left and right sides, wooden panels broke up the space into cubicles with desks and shelving units with boxes? In the middle, there were large tables with chairs around; one had real mugs—not made of wood or metal—and a jug with steam spiralling up from the spout. There were maybe some biscuits too? It was all very new to me and I could only tell so much by looking.

There didn’t seem to be anyone else here yet, which didn’t surprise me considering we’d left as soon as we’d woken up, not even having breakfast, and it was the weekend. It turned out I was wrong, though.

A heavy sigh cut through the room’s silence. “Sisi, I need that pen back.”

“Mr Arl, Miss Sisi, good day,” Hyraj said, speaking louder—or maybe it was the room.

A scraping sound, then a man appeared from inside one of the cubicles. “Miss Hyraj, good day,” he said, smile not covering up how tired he looked. His gaze that set on Hyraj then turned to me. “And to them.”

I took a moment, still not too sure with greetings. “Good day.” Copying them was fine, right?

After saying that, movement by him caught my eye. Peeking around the corner was a young girl. By her height, I guessed five. Couldn’t tell much else about her since her brown hair covered her face. Still, my heart just melted!

Hyraj touched my elbow, getting my attention, then spoke softly. “Mr Arl has to bring his daughter for certain reasons and I thought you might like to meet her.”

Well, she was right. Falling into old habits easily, I squatted down and said, “Hello. Was your name Sisi? Mine is Louise, but you can call me Loulou if that’s hard to say.”

She disappeared around the corner for a moment, then peeked out from behind Mr Arl—her dad as Hyraj had said.

Kids could be very shy at that age, so I didn’t take it personally. Not to mention, even if Hyraj didn’t tell me anything, I had a good guess about what was going on.

I stood back up and Hyraj whispered to me, “There should be time for you to have breakfast if you return now.”

Thoughts swirled around my head, but I went along with her, giving Sisi one last look and a little wave. “It was nice to have met you,” I said.

A short walk back to the dormitory, but long enough for me to think about how she had brown hair—not black—and how her hands weren’t the same brown as her father’s, not as pale as Hyraj’s.