Kiss the Stranger

Phew.
I rubbed my stiff shoulders with a sigh. The studio was as quiet as always. At this hour, everyone else was busy with their own work—only I was here at the loom.

I stood to loosen my muscles and began to walk slowly around the room. I’d left Rikal in the study, but I’d given him enough to eat, so he’d be fine. Besides, he often slipped out the window to wander and clamber back in through the trees. The thought that he was probably off for a stroll or begging scraps put me at ease. Asgail had called him ugly, but it seemed others found him quite endearing.
Thank goodness.
I thought, approaching the window and looking down. This peaceful routine felt almost dreamlike.

At first, I’d been startled by Zahara’s proposal, but it made sense once she explained. After all, my goal here was to gather information by talking with others, and the work itself didn’t matter so long as I kept busy. So when she asked me to weave the carpet she intended to include in her dowry, I agreed without hesitation. In return, she promised to feed Rikal on schedule and tend to my wounds.
Just being free of worry over Rikal was a relief. Thanks to our agreement, I now had meals twice a day, and my back was gradually healing.
There was still no word from the steward. He might never return. His only concern had been his research, and he’d taken everything that day—no reason to come back.

I felt neither sadness nor bitterness. I’d expected as much when he said he’d leave. I only wondered if he was doing all right—though of course he must be.
The distant call to prayer drifted faintly through the air. I staggered over to the small rug against the wall and spread it out, then climbed onto it.
“Ugh….”
Bending was still painful, and a groan escaped me. I inhaled deeply, bent my waist slowly, and began to pray. The tranquil afternoon passed by.

“You’ve already done this much? Amazing!”
When Zahara brought dinner, she exclaimed, eyes wide. I looked down shyly and pretended to eat the bread she’d brought.
Twice a day, she brought soup in the morning and bread and water in the evening. Grateful for anything edible, I never failed to thank her.

Since I’d started working, I’d learned a few new things—one being that my weaving speed far outpaced everyone else’s. That was why Zahara had asked me to make her carpet. She’d said she couldn’t possibly finish on time.
“It just needs to be done.”
Though she’d said it lightly, I couldn’t make a wedding piece carelessly. To show my gratitude for her caring for Rikal, I poured all my effort into intertwining the threads. Day after day, I wound warp and weft, tied knots, rewound threads, and tied more knots until my entire body ached and my eyes felt ready to pop. But how thankful I was to be able to do something—receive treatment for my wounds, gain food. That alone was enough.

“Um, actually—”
Zahara, staring intently at the carpet, suddenly looked up and spoke. I continued chewing the hard bread, trying to soften it, and met her gaze.
“My friend also urgently needs something made. Could you help me with it? It’s not big, and Yohan, you’d finish in no time.”

“Uh….”
It was naturally daunting to take on another task before finishing hers. I hesitated, unable to answer immediately, and she pressed on.
“My friend’s in a bind. I swear it’s tiny—it’d take you a day, at most three. Your hands are fast, right? What’s so hard about doing just one more thing?”

She kept pushing, but I still hesitated. Growing frustrated, Zahara snapped.
“How can you be like this? It’s not even a big favor. You thanked me so profusely for feeding that cat—but that was just empty words, wasn’t it? Fine. If anything like this comes up again, I won’t care for him ever again.”
“No, no. That’s not it, Zahara, it’s just—”

I would be fine, but if she stopped caring for Rikal, that would be a problem. Anxious, I glanced at the loom. The carpet was only half done.
At that size, I could probably finish in a month….
I estimated vaguely and asked with a sigh,

“…It really is small, right?”
“Of course! It’s tiny—I tell you, you’d finish in a week at most! Trust me, Yohan, really.”
Zahara brightened instantly. Though the deadline had lengthened from three days to a week, I had no choice.
“All right….”

I nodded reluctantly. Zahara beamed, grasped my hand for a moment, then let go.
“Don’t worry, Yohan. It’s just embroidery on a tapestry. No matter how big the carpet is, it’s just for hanging on the wall.”
If it was wall-hung, size barely mattered. I forced down my anxiety and answered again,

Yes.
My time here was almost up—others would soon arrive to work. I hurriedly cleaned up and prepared to leave the studio, but Zahara followed me.
“…Zahara, are you just going to leave?”

I was taken aback. I’d expected her to stay and continue her carpet once I left—but she answered nonchalantly.
“You’ll be back here tomorrow anyway, right? What if I mess it up accidentally? Better if you finish it yourself.”
With that, she bounced ahead on light steps, leaving me speechless as she vanished down the corridor.

The next morning, Zahara arrived at the study even earlier than usual. After feeding Rikal and waiting for me to finish my soup, she practically shoved me into the workshop. There awaited the “friend’s piece” she’d mentioned the day before.
A carpet the same size as «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» Zahara’s.
“Ugh….”

My shoulders ached, and I felt as though my entire body was breaking, but I couldn’t rest my hands. A week had already passed, yet so much remained to be done.
Alternating between Zahara’s and her friend’s carpets, time was absurdly short; working only by day, I’d never finish. At this rate, I’d be here for months.
Moreover, neither Zahara nor her friend lifted a finger to help. Each morning I entered the workshop, the half-finished carpets awaited me unchanged. Day by day, I grew more exhausted, and I almost forgot why I’d agreed to this in the first place.

About two weeks in, unfortunately, I ran into the other workers. I’d lost track of time in my weaving and missed the moment I should have left.
“What on earth is that?”
A sudden voice nearly made me slip. I looked up in alarm: a group of women who’d finished their own work stood watching me. I scrambled to my feet, flustered, and Zahara peered out from among them, her face ashen.

“What happened? Why haven’t you left yet?”
She scolded me, and I struggled out an answer.
“I was working….”

My stomach rumbled weakly—I hadn’t eaten dinner. Zahara hadn’t brought it. Normally, when she delivered the evening meal, I knew I could work until then and then go, but today she’d missed that time. Zahara’s face contorted, and she muttered reproachfully.
“You should know when to stop! Now I’m in trouble!”
“Zahara!”

Someone called her name from behind. Zahara spun around in surprise to see the woman at the front glaring, arms crossed.
“Explain yourself. Now.”
“W-well….”

Stammering, Zahara began to explain, and the woman shot me another contemptuous glance.
“You remember that American doctor who asked to have Yohan work here…? He wanted him back, so I said yes. It’s empty during the day anyway.”
“That’s old news—and that American’s gone too!”

The woman snapped, and complaints erupted all around.
“He’s a man, even if an omega. How can we share the same workspace?”
“What if the carpet absorbs his pheromones?”

“If you wanted to work here again, you should’ve asked us first. Zahara, how dare you make decisions without our permission?”
They openly despised me. Cowed, I couldn’t find my voice. Facing their anger, Zahara cried out urgently.
“Yohan insisted I let him do it… I feed the cat, after all. It’s just in exchange for that. It’s not my fault! Yohan pushed me into it!”

Everyone turned to stare at me as if questioning the truth of her words. Panic filled me.
“N-no, I….”
“Then was that ‘thank you’ for feeding Rikal a lie?”

Zahara snapped, as if ready to attack. I shook my head desperately.
“That's not what I meant….”
“You said you wanted to work here. What was wrong with that? Tell me—what was wrong?”

“It’s just….”
I swallowed hard, about to speak, when I realized everyone’s eyes were on me. Suddenly I understood: no matter what I said, they wouldn’t believe me.
“Enough. All of you, come here.”

A voice interrupted. All eyes turned to one spot, and I saw a woman standing before the carpet I’d been weaving. The others scowled at her, then eyed my work and began whispering. My heart twisted with dread at their sidelong glances. Finally, the first woman spoke with resolve.
“Then let’s do this.”
All eyes pivoted to me as she looked me squarely in the face and said,

“We’ll let you slide—if you make all of our pieces too. Deal?”
All at once, I froze, eyes wide. They expected me to do every single one. Over ten looms’ worth of work lay scattered around the workshop.
All of it… by myself?

I felt dizzy at the impossible demand. Another woman nodded and added,
“If you want the studio to yourself, that’s the only way. Don’t like it, throw away what you’ve done and leave. You’ll never be let in again.”
At that moment, I saw Zahara’s face—cold and unseeing, just like the others’.

If Zahara wouldn’t help me…
And then I thought of Rikal. I had no choice but to say yes.