Her first realization, even before opening her eyes, was that she was lying on a hard surface. Within a few seconds, she realized this wasn't her bed and her eyes snapped open.
"Where am I? What am I doing here?" she thought, as her mind raced to recall the events of the previous night in a flash.
When she tried to sit up, a sharp pain pierced through her head. She noticed a long robe draped over her. When she turned her head, she saw the man who had appeared out of nowhere earlier that night—he was sitting on the ground next to the bench.
She couldn't control her racing heartbeat. Angrily, she chided herself, "Congratulations, Chiaya, you've really outdone yourself this time."
"Aagh," she groaned reflexively, bringing a hand to her head.
The man turned his face towards her, and in a deep, resonant voice, said,
"You're awake."
Before Chiaya could ask anything, she frantically searched for her bag. A deep breath of relief escaped her when she saw it placed beside her, tucked beneath the robe. She immediately opened it and checked the contents. Her phone, keys, and wallet were all there.
She glanced at the time — it was nearly 6 AM.
Still half-asleep, her voice rough and groggy, she asked, "What happened last night?"
"You threw up and passed out."
"And after that?"
"I laid you here."
Chiaya wished the ground would swallow her whole out of sheer embarrassment.
"I'm really sorry. I've never blacked out from alcohol before. This was my first time—but I've also never had hallucinations before. I don't know what's happening to me. I'm truly, really sorry."
"It's all right," the man replied, and stood up.
It was the first time Chiaya saw him clearly. He was nearly two meters tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and sharp eyes. Golden pauldrons and vambraces adorned him. He wore a loose, flowing black shirt and slim trousers made of a thin fabric. He was a handsome man.
"Oh, you must be cold," Chiaya said, feeling embarrassed as she tentatively offered him the robe.
Only now did she notice the smell. As the man reached out to take the robe, she suddenly pulled it back in a panic and looked it over. There were spots of vomit on it.
Her face burned with shame. Chiaya genuinely, truly wished she could sink into the ground.
"I threw up on you, didn't I?" Chiaya asked, her expression full of embarrassment. "I'm so sorry."
"It's fine," the man replied, his voice calm and even. "I can clean it."
"Where do you live?" she asked—and got the answer she had feared.
"Far from here."
Chiaya was still holding the robe in her hands. Her mind quickly ran through an assessment. He wasn't a thief. Most likely, not a pervert either. He had stayed by the bench all night, watching over her, and even covered her with his robe so she wouldn't get cold.
"I live nearby," she said. "Just a few blocks from here. You can come and get cleaned up there. But if you'd rather not, I can give you my business card. I'd like to cover the dry cleaning costs."
Karan had no idea what a business card or dry cleaning was, but he wanted to get cleaned up—and more importantly, he wanted information from this woman. So he accepted her invitation.
"If it's no trouble for you, then I'd like to come and clean up," he said, picking up his sack from the ground.
"Cool," Chiaya replied, a hint of relief in her voice.
The sun had yet to rise, but the streets were beginning to lighten. The only people out were those rushing to get to work.
Karan had seen a few of them before Chiaya woke up, but the brief experience he'd gained in the past few hours had taught him one thing: he shouldn't speak to people walking the streets.
If Chiaya had seen him the way he looked last night, she probably would've thought he was out collecting signatures for a charity organization called Elara Vardal.
As they walked, Karan reached out and took the robe from Chiaya's hands. She felt relieved—
the robe was heavier than it looked, and honestly, every muscle in her body felt like it had been drained out with a syringe.
The sun had yet to rise, but the streets were beginning to lighten. The only people out were those rushing to get to work.
Karan had seen a few of them before Chiaya woke up, but the brief experience he'd gained in the past few hours had taught him one thing: he shouldn't speak to people walking the streets.
If Chiaya had seen him the way he looked last night, she probably would've thought he was out collecting signatures for a charity organization called Elara Vardal.
As they walked, Karan reached out and took the robe from Chiaya's hands. She felt relieved—
the robe was heavier than it looked, and honestly, every muscle in her body felt like it had been drained out with a syringe.
Thinking it was too soon to give her last name, Chiaya said, "By the way, I'm Chiaya. What's your name?"
"Karan," the man replied.
Chiaya had never been the kind of person who could sit in silence when someone else was nearby. Not just while walking—at any moment. Silence made her feel like something was off, like the air itself was waiting for words. She waited, hoping he'd say something—anything—but he just kept quietly walking beside her.
She glanced at his clothes.
She couldn't help herself.
"Do you work in… entertainment or something?"
"No."
"Oh," Chiaya said, quickly averting her gaze. "It's just—with the outfit and the accessories, I thought maybe you had some kind of job that required a costume. Sorry, that was rude."
"Do my clothes really look strange?"
Chiaya was surprised to hear the man's tone; he sounded genuinely curious, not annoyed.
Considering she'd never heard the name Karan before, Maybe he's a tourist, she thought. From a country I don't really know much about.
"Oh no, it's just... just not what you typically see on the street here. Please don't take that the wrong way—you should wear whatever feels right to you."
Karan gave a small nod in response.
"This is my street," Chiaya added. "You must be tired—you stayed up all night. We'll walk a little more. Just hang in there."
"What is that creature?" Karan asked, pointing to the top edge of the garden wall.
"Oh, that? That's the cat of Aunt Tulin—she lives nearby. But the cat mostly lives on the street."
"Can you understand each other?"
Chiaya chuckled, the sound catching with a small hiccup. "Oh no, I definitely don't have the gift of understanding cats. Every time I try to pet one, they scratch or bite me. I don't know what it is about me, but once—" she gave another short laugh, "once I was walking home at night, and this cat made the strangest noise and just lunged at me. Clawed up both my legs."
"What did you do?"
"Ran for my life!" she said with a quick laugh. "There's honestly nothing scarier than a cat going feral on you. They're so bold, completely fearless. But weirdly… that's kind of what I love about them."
Karan told himself to be careful around cats.