I thought the last rain had been a storm; I was wrong. We struggled to make it back after her work closed early, wind shoving us around, drops painful on my bare skin. Inside, it sounded like hail how loudly it hit the front door behind us, not to mention the building’s groans, wind’s howls. Silence wasn’t so silent any more.

Still, I hoped Sisi and Mr Arl made it back safely. He didn’t, well, look particularly strong, his job to sit around and write down numbers… but he was still a man, right? As long as Sisi was covered up, he could carry her back no problem.

I hoped.

Trying to break away from worrying, I looked at Hyraj. She wasn’t going to be much help, though, reading her book. Especially when it rained, she liked to read. Maybe something she’d done as a child?

Hyraj as a child, wasn’t that enough to put a smile on my face? A cute little thing, her hair like Sisi’s—no, she would have had someone to comb it, so done up nicely. Oh, maybe bunches?

There was no way for me to see that, but, if she had a daughter one day, I would love to meet her. Maybe… a long time from now, we would both have children and meet up, and they would play together.

A lot of emotions swirled around my chest, but imagining the two of us watching our children play together—I liked it. Wanted it. A calm, peaceful future.

I passed the time imagining that. A quaint cottage in the countryside, garden with some flowerbeds and meadowy grass, tall enough that the children disappeared when they lay down in it, playing hide and seek. And Hyraj, sitting on a blanket under a tree, picnic laid out in front, book in hand, her eyes often darting up to check on the kids.

Coming out of my thoughts, I pushed myself up to my feet and took a deep breath. The storm still, well, stormed outside, listening to it again sort of putting me on edge. Like my brain knew that I wouldn’t do well at all if the walls weren’t protecting me.

Not wanting to dwell on that, I shuffled through to the kitchen where the cook was taking out ingredients. While I didn’t know much about her, I knew she lived here, some things she’d mentioned making me think her kids were adults now, no mention of her husband. Maybe he’d died, maybe he’d left her (or she’d left him). None of my business, so I didn’t think too much about it.

“Ah, you’re back,” she said, grinning at me. “Good, good. We cook something nice tonight. When it’s like this, a warm meal is best, eh?”

I smiled in answer.

A warm meal turned out to be vegetable fritters and curry—different to the one I’d eaten for lunch. Rather than “creamy”, this one was tomato-based, still full of spices, but more… not vinegary, but tangy? Which went well with the almost sweet fritters, vegetables caramelised in the wok, maybe some sugar added to the batter when I wasn’t looking? Last of all, there was, like, rice bread. I was busy with other things, so didn’t see every step, but she used ousickle flour to make a dough (I got to help knead it), then rolled them into thin sausages and steamed them. On their own, they were a bit chewy and tasteless, but wonderful with the curry, a great contrast to the crunchy fritters.

As much as I enjoyed the dinner, I couldn’t tell if Hyraj did. Was there a point in asking a question if the answer was always the same?

For now, I just took our plates through to wash. It kind of surprised me she let me do that. When we were camping, she always washed up if I cooked. Well, she was working hard, so it was natural for her to let some things slide.

After I finished that and came back, she was reading again. I left her to it. Sitting on the bed, I looked out the window, almost black outside despite the hour with how thick the clouds were, how heavy the rain fell. About time for sunset, but looked like the middle of the night.

Not an interesting sight, I closed the curtains and turned back to Hyraj, ready to watch her. Just that I soon noticed she hadn’t turned the page for a while. I didn’t worry at first, being lost in thought something that happened to her at times, but a minute passed, two, still on the same page.

And her hand shook.

I stood up and took the two steps over to her side. “Is there no problems?” I whispered.

Her hand stilled and I heard her draw in a deep breath before letting it out. “There are no problems,” she said, her voice normal—trying to be normal.

I rested my hand on top of hers. “Please, tell me if it is help,” I said, only to cringe at using the wrong word.

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“Would help,” she muttered, reflexively correcting me, then said, “That is it… I do not know if it would help.”

“Would it hurt?” I asked.

She had no answer, silence stretching on for seconds, then she spoke. “It is… the storm. I did not much fear it before. However, that night… that night beneath the tree, I thought I would die. I thought I would die and then you took my hand, pulling me to the safety of your house of mud and straw.”

Pausing there, she let out a chuckle, hand over her mouth. “It is funny,” she whispered. “I realised then that even those which are weak to the rain may withstand it better than I with all my pride. Perhaps, even now, that house still stands in defiance of the weather.”

I waited a moment to make sure she was finished. “That is wrong,” I said, squeezing her hand as I did. “The mud… still washes away, but I build it up again. And the mud wasn’t strong if there wasn’t wood to hold to and if there wasn’t straw mixed in it. That house… is definitely gone. Maybe a pile of wood and rotten straw or less.”

The words kept coming, trying to keep me distracted from what she’d said before talking about the house. My heart still beat so painfully at the thought of her dying. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to think about how scared she must have been—how thankful I was that I did bring her to my “house”.

However, there was something important I had to say. “Thank you for telling me.”

She let out a breath of almost laughter, her hand turning around to hold mine, giving a squeeze. “Having you close like this calms me,” she said. Whispered. A gentle voice, only just loud enough to be heard over the storm outside.

“Then I will always be close like this when it storms,” I said back, laughter on the tip of my tongue at her rare weakness, so cute.

“Do you promise?” she asked.

“I do.”

Her hand squeezed mine again, tight, but not painful, and didn’t let up. As if she was going to keep me to my promise.

After maybe a minute like that, her grip loosened—but she didn’t let go—and she began to read the book aloud. It was the same book she had used to teach me how to read, not exactly a chance for her to get new ones since we began travelling together. So she read, turning the page with one hand, and I listened, the two of us awkwardly sitting on the chair together. Outside, the rain pounded against the glass, wind howled, bursts of lightning and rumbling thunder.

The next morning, it still stormed. Not as hard, but hard enough that someone knocked on the door, saying, “Work’s cancelled for the day,” before going to the next room, their heavy footsteps mixing with the rain.

Hyraj wasn’t so clingy today, though, so I helped the cook with breakfast, then did my washing, then helped with lunch. A busy morning. For the afternoon, I went back to my knitting. The rain was nice for that. Normally, the clacks sounded so loud in our little room.

At some point, I tried to remember what day of the week it was, thinking it was “Friday”. I knew Hyraj had been working hard, but had no clue if she’d caught up on the work. “Do you… work tomorrow?” I asked, blanking over what word to use for “have”.

“That is it.” She paused to close her book, then continued. “I would say I am not needed; however, Mr Arl could use the help. We will have to see.”

“Okay.”

Another night, another morning, our routine comfortable by now. Used to the hair pins, I could do up her hair even faster now. But I didn’t. This little moment we had was soothing for me, familiar, a tiny warmth that kept away the cold loneliness. There was… trust that came with letting someone do your hair.

“There we go,” I said, stepping back.

She touched her hair, then slipped on her hat and stood up. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

We covered up as best we could and walked over to the office at a brisk pace, the rain still falling, just not as stormy. We scraped our shoes and greeted the “receptionist” and joined Mr Arl and Sisi in the office—the only ones there. Even after an hour, the only person who had come through was a cook or someone like that, bringing in a plate of sandwiches.

As for Sisi and I, we knitted. Kind of. It was too fiddly for her, the way she held the needles like she was going to use them for stabbing. So I tried to hold her hands and guide her through the steps, but, a beginner myself, I struggled with it. That she was sitting opposite me, so I was basically knitting backwards, really didn’t help.

It didn’t matter, though. She was only four or five, “success” very different to her now than if she was older. Kids this age just liked feeling involved and that was great for helping them develop their motor skills. Like, if we were baking, she would be happy to just pour the ingredients I measured into a bowl and give it a stir before I took over.

So we made a mess of the yarn. That was fine—as long as she was enjoying herself. It seemed like she was, focused, constantly brushing aside her long fringe to see better.

That, well, I hesitated all morning, a ribbon in my pocket. A lot of little thoughts floated around my mind. I knew they had a maid at home, so there must have been a reason why she didn’t help with Sisi’s hair. Mr Arl was busy, but he was willing to bring her into work and all this, so there must have been a reason he hadn’t taken her for a trim.

Anyway, these kinds of things were best done slow.

“Sisi?”

She took a moment to stop, so focused. “Mm?” she said, not really much of a talker.

“Do we want to practise braiding? With the yarn,” I said, a bit disjointed as I messed up, stuck between asking “do you” and “should we”. Kept making these kinds of silly mistakes.

“Braiding… like hair?” she whispered.

I softly smiled, her weak voice saying so much. Instead of answering her with words, I took a loose bundle of yarn and pulled it out into three bunches, showing her a few braids with it.

She kept her hands on her knees, face hiding behind her hair. Eventually, though, her hand moved, thumb tapping her forefinger. My smile grew, but still held some of the sadness I felt from her.

“It’s easy, see?” I said, doing a few more braids. “You go from the outside to the inside, left and right and left and right. If you forget left or right, look here, see? We went from left before, so now we went right.”

Another day of lessons to pass the time.