CHAPTER 47: I LIKE HIM?

Startled, Gara stood up at once. To avoid an awkward silence, he walked over to set down his own barely-touched cup.

But after that, his steps faltered.

Madha’s eyes held a quiet, mischievous smile, almost as if saying, ’You don’t have much choice but to sit beside me.’

They say people can’t think straight when they’re nervous.

That saying couldn’t be more accurate for Gara right now. He moved slowly, hesitantly, and sat beside him on the wooden stool like a rabbit bracing for a predator’s pounce.

Even though, he could’ve chosen to sit on the bed instead—Madha wouldn’t be able to, not in wet pants.

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, silence thickened.

Then, suddenly, Madha reached out and took Gara’s wrist in his hand. His skin was as pale as snow, a stark contrast to his darker, scarred fingers.

His wrist was soft—so soft that without realizing it, Madha began gently rubbing his thumb across his skin, feeling the delicate texture.

He didn’t know that Gara’s entire body had begun to tremble.

Two young men (well, one of them could get pregnant) were alone together in a small room, rubbing against each other— rubbing the hands, of course.

Still, thoughts began creeping into Gara’s mind. Thoughts he didn’t want to be having.

It wasn’t entirely his fault. After all, his soul had lived 25 years as a woman. Sitting this close to a tall, broad-shouldered man like Madha—it was only natural for certain feelings to stir.

Even so, it was embarrassing to even think about it.

What was worse? He had the chance to pull his hand away, but didn’t.

Maybe this is what people called consent. His soul just... yielded without a fight.

"This bracelet really suits your wrist," Madha said suddenly, breaking through Gara’s inappropriate thoughts like a gust of wind.

"I-I see," Gara stammered.

Until now, Madha had been completely focused on how soft Gara’s wrist felt. But when he finally looked up to meet his face—he found soft pink coloring Gara’s cheeks.

Without thinking, Madha raised a hand and gently touched that flushed cheek.

It was warm. And just as soft.

Now, a matching blush bloomed across both of their ears.

Their hearts pounded wildly in their chests, beating so loud it nearly drowned out the sound of the rain.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Gara sprang to his feet. Madha’s hand dropped back to his side, almost reluctantly.

Wina entered the room, carrying a plate of steamed cakes. "Something to keep your stomachs from growling until dinner," she said, placing the plate down on the wooden stool Gara had just vacated.

"Thank you, Auntie Wina," Madha said with a smile. Wina nodded, then quietly left.

Unlike Madha, who could slip back into a casual mood instantly, Gara needed a few extra moments just to think straight again.

Noticing that his stool was now taken up by the plate, he instinctively looked around for another place to sit—then finally realized he could just sit on the bed.

And so Gara sat down.

This meant Madha couldn’t come closer anymore, not with his damp trousers. He simply stayed where he was and began nibbling on the steamed cake, deciding it was the right time to explain why he’d come.

"I’ll be going on another mission the day after tomorrow. It’s an evacuation operation for flood victims," he said.

Lately, rain had been falling nearly every night. Today was the first time it came in the late afternoon. Some rivers in neighboring villages had already overflowed.

Fortunately, Gara—who trained by the river every morning using the large rocks—had inadvertently deepened their own village’s riverbed. It now held more water than before.

Madha continued, "It’s not far from here, so it shouldn’t take long. Maybe a week or two at most."

Gara looked at him, startled. "But what about your injuries?"

"I think I’ll be fully healed by tomorrow," Madha replied gently.

"True..." Gara had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed made something tighten in his chest. He didn’t know why, but the idea of Madha leaving made him uneasy.

Madha saw the light dim slightly in Gara’s usually bright eyes. It tugged at his heart.

He didn’t want to be apart for long either—but the sooner he completed the five required missions, the sooner he could return and stay by Gara’s side.

Their conversation was interrupted by Wina calling them for dinner.

At first, Madha hesitated, not wanting to impose. But since Wina had already prepared three portions—and the food wouldn’t keep overnight—he accepted and joined the small family at the table.

By the time they finished, the rain had stopped.

Madha got up to leave, and Gara walked him to the front door. He waved as Madha began walking down the path.

Madha glanced back several times, his eyes filled with quiet reluctance.

Without realizing it, Gara returned that same look, the unspoken feeling echoing in his gaze.

And once Madha disappeared into the trees, his silhouette swallowed by the thick greenery, Gara turned to go back inside.

But just as Gara was about to step back inside, another figure appeared—none other than Uncle Tirian, their neighbor—beating a bamboo slit drum, its hollow rhythm echoing through the village night.

As he passed their house, he called out, "Meeting at the village hall!"

Wina emerged from the kitchen. "So the meeting is happening after all."

"What meeting, Mom?" Gara asked, closing the door and walking over to her.

"I’m not exactly sure. I thought it would be canceled because of the rain," Wina replied. She ducked into her room briefly, then came out carrying a cloth pouch. "I’m heading out. You can go to bed first if I’m not back yet."

Gara nodded obediently, watching as Wina quickly left the house.

On most nights, when the lighting was this dim, Gara would go straight to sleep.

But as soon as he entered his room, the faint scent of the herbal powder used on Madha lingered in the air—pulling his thoughts back to earlier that evening.

Do I like Madha? he found himself wondering, like a love-struck girl.

His mind wandered to Madha’s handsome face, the gentleness in the way he touched him. The way his presence made Gara’s heart beat faster.

"Is he someone who could give you ninety-nine children?"

...