Kiss the Stranger

“It’s strangely festive,” I murmured, waking from sleep. Rikal, equally excited, paced at the window, meowing. I needed to feed him, but my body felt leaden. Lying there with my eyes open, I heard a knock and reluctantly sat up. The innkeeper stood at the door and chastised me lightheartedly.
“Yohan, what are you doing? Sleeping on such a fine day!”
I forced a laugh.

“Ha ha…”
He laughed heartily and continued, “Come eat with us later. Go out and meet people a bit. Oh—and Steward phoned. Hurry downstairs and take the call.”
Steward?

Puzzled, I emerged into the hall as the innkeeper turned to say, “We should get you a phone. It’s so inconvenient in these times not to have one.”
“I manage well enough, thank you…” I mumbled. I’d never dared buy a phone, afraid of leaving any trace. The inn’s routine of letting guests use theirs had gone unremarked—until now, I supposed, my long stay seemed odd. Pretending not to notice, I followed him down. At the desk lay a handset. I thanked him and lifted the receiver.
“Yes, Steward. I’m well. When will you return?”

His familiar voice answered—then sounded strange.
“Yohan?”
“Steward?”
His voice trembled oddly. I frowned, and he went on.

“Ah, um, Yohan—what are you doing? How’s the atmosphere there?”
His tone was light but uneasy. I answered slowly, “I’m not sure. There’s a festive mood— the crown prince returned.”
“I see? Nothing amiss, then?”

I could only reassure him again, “No, nothing at all. Steward, how are you? All right?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m fine, everything’s good. Listen, Yohan—don’t leave your room until I arrive. I have something to tell you. I’ll be there tonight—stay put, do you understand?”
His repeated urgings made my heart pound. I stammered, “Why? What’s wrong? Can’t you tell me now?”

He evaded, “It’s hard by phone. Let’s meet. I’ll come as quickly as I can.”
He ended the call with a final plea: “Don’t go anywhere until I’m there.” Bewildered, I replaced the handset. Glancing up, I met the innkeeper’s expectant gaze and mumbled, “Thank you for the call.” As I turned away, he called, “Wait, Yohan—here, from the temple.” He handed me a basket. I tried to refuse, but he vanished inside. I looked down at the gift—and at the scattered pamphlet tucked among the fruit. It bore the same face I’d just seen on the screen.
My legs gave way. I sank to the floor.

This can’t be happening.
Pulling myself together, I stumbled into my room, my mind repeating, This is impossible. I must be mistaken. But the pamphlet’s photograph was unchanged: the same face {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} I’d yearned for. How could this be? It had to be someone else—yet the resemblance was uncanny.
When we’d lived here, Kamar always wore sunglasses and covered half his face. Locals didn’t know him. We avoided the lord’s men by staying indoors until late or when few passed by. Only I and the Steward had ever seen his face uncovered.

After Kamar disappeared, I hid too, but lately I’d grown careless—perhaps in despair, since life without him felt meaningless.
But what was happening now? Desperate for an explanation, I recalled Steward’s words.
Ah.

A sudden clarity struck me—yet I clung to denial. I longed for Steward to arrive and tell me I was wrong, that it was a trick of the light. But late that night, frantic knocking drew me from sleep. Opening the door in dread, I realized all hope was vain.
“Yohan.”
Steward’s face was contorted. I’d never seen him like this. Trying to smile, I imagined how absurd I must look.
“Steward.”

I managed to voice—an effort requiring all my courage—“Have you… seen Kamar?”
He said nothing. His silence answered. Overwhelmed, I wanted to weep.