I rolled over and blinked, the soft glow of midday sifting through the blinds. I yawned, my head throbbing, making me feel as if I was about to spin around and fall over. My eyes felt thick and swollen. I rubbed them vigorously. It didn’t help. Still lying down in my bed, the covers twisted around my feet, I swiped on my WaComm to wake the screen. It shone a bright green at me, piercing through my irises. No messages. I yawned again and my stomach grumbled at me, angry and nauseous.

I swiped a few more times, sending a message to our group chat with Joh, Lip, and Malley, asking if they made it home alright. It was noon, surely, they had gotten home by now. Whatever they had actually gotten up to last night, I doubted they stuck around to see the morning. It would’ve been nice to hear from them to ask about me, though. But I knew I shouldn’t expect that from them; I really didn’t know them all that well. They were classmates, since we were young, and we were usually in the same social circle, but that was really it. Every time I hung out with them, or anyone like that, it was just them trying to reach up and use me, take advantage of my father’s status and elevated position in the Cabinet.

But that was something I’d gotten used to over the years. The Montgomerys were a noble family, my father a Lord; one day, he would hand that title over to me. We were always thrust at the top of the social ladder, ever bothered by those trying to use us to climb higher. This was just the price I had to pay to live this life. I suppose. I looked around at my apartment, my sanctuary. It was perfectly clean, sparkling, as it always was. The white sheets were always pristine. I carefully leant over to untangle my feet and get out of the crisp linens, finally ready to rise out of bed.

A few more swipes on my WaComm, and the wall screen began to play. It was stuck on the station I’d last been watching, which was the news. It wasn’t something I used to watch often, but since I’d been studying sociology, it became more of an educational and academic experience. The news usually reported whatever was sensational, and it always made me wonder what the real story was. Why did that burglar steal from that family? Was it to feed their kids, or just to steal? I felt it was important to question things like that, and as a graduate student, it was my duty to look closer at our society as a whole.

The newscaster looked grim today, though, her lips tight and thin as she spoke. “…another murder has been identified; investigations are ongoing, but some speculate that the Cabinet Murderer has struck again…”

A chill went through my body. If they’re already guessing it’s another Cabinet murder, then one of my father’s colleagues, another Lord, had been found dead. This makes the fourth one, if I wasn’t mistaken. I hastily swiped on my WaComm again, eagerly changing the channel on the wall screen to anything else. A cooking show now spouted bright and cheery information on how best to make a traditional Arugan sour cake, a delicacy made popular about thirty years ago. I left it on, but tuned out the noise, unwilling to leave the apartment empty of sound.

I started the coffee maker by swiping on my WaComm again, prompting a burst of liquid to spout into an automated cup, ready in seconds. As I sipped the hot beverage, I tried to remember what happened last night. It was fuzzy, sure, but I didn’t think I blacked out. Though some details seemed strange. Did my wallet really get stolen last night? Did I really meet the leader of the Ka Po’e, the most beautiful Nari’e girl I’d ever seen?

I started up, nearly splashing the coffee all over the counter and my lap. I was supposed to meet her, Mea, today. I scrolled through my WaComm, desperate to see what she’d input there. Did she add herself as a contact? A brief browse through my contacts determined that to be false, she hadn’t put her number in there. Maybe she saved a location for me, and hopefully, a time. I opened the navigation and saw there was a new starred location, and an event tied to it. The time was for in fifteen minutes – it was what had woken me up this morning, the reminder.

I ran back to my bedroom, ignoring the ache in my head, threw on the closest pair of pants and shirt, finger combed my hair, and ran a brush over my teeth as quickly as humanly possible. I readied my car through the navigation, prepping it to take me to where Mea had indicated. The ETA said I’d be eight minutes late – I hoped she wouldn’t be upset. It wasn’t like that was very long, but something told me that she didn't like to be kept waiting. I didn’t want to make her wait, either.

I swiped on my WaComm to start my car, the autodrive function prompting my vehicle to extract itself from the parking garage and approach my apartment. I met it outside as it pulled up the curb, excruciatingly slow and precise.

The drive wasn’t long, but it felt as if the car wasn’t going as fast as it should be. Traffic went along, sure, but i felt each second ticking along as if each one was another point lost against me. I was so intrigued by this woman that I had to know more about her, more about her life, her people. What was this? I barely registered the scenery beyond the windows.

The car eased to a stop, in the midst of a rustic, yet bustling, artistic side of town. This district was in the Nari’e quarter, clear by the rundown buildings that surrounded me, but their age and decrepitness was decorative, with an air of intentional disarray that felt sophisticated in its roughness. Small shops with artisans selling their wares outside edged the streets, a few food trucks dotted the sidewalk, the sights and smells of a cultural center. I turned my head to see what we had stopped in front of - a small, nondescript coffee shop with large windows that took up the entire wall.

That’s when I saw her. She was up against the ceiling height windows, kneeling at a short table in what I presumed was traditional Nari’e fashion, propped on a dense pillow. Her untamed hair extended in every direction like a cloud with electrical fingers probing for the next conductive object. It looked so soft; I wanted nothing more than to touch it, to squeeze it, to bunch it up in my hands. But I knew I couldn’t. She sipped at a cup so miniature, it looked like a doll’s. In a daze, I made my way to the shop’s entrance. I hoped she wasn’t angry with me for being late.

I entered the coffee shop with a soft ding of the bell, notifying the employees of my presence. Steam wafted from the machines, soft chatter of the customers littered the air. A quick glance showed me that all of the customers were plainly Nari’e, and I felt as if I stood out. It was odd to be a minority; I wondered if Nari’e felt this way when out in my part of town. Most of the tables were short, like the one that Mea knelt at, though there was the bar you could sit at right next to the cashier, though a few bean bag chairs sat in the corner propped up near a bookshelf. It was a very small space, probably only capable of fitting twenty customers in at once. One barista manned the counter, rushing back and forth between the coffee machines and the tiny counter space where she cooked other menu items. It smelled good, and was probably the cleanest building in the Nari’e quarter I’d been in. Though, since I’d really only been in seedy bars, that probably wasn’t a fair comparison.

I allowed myself to stare in her direction as I walked toward her. She looked even more radiant than what I’d seen from the window. Her clothes, that I hadn’t noticed earlier, were summery and breezy, even with the weather taking a colder turn into fall. She wore a long dress, baggy and rectangular; though, her curves were impossible to ignore, no matter what she covered them with. The patterns, bold and vibrant, accentuated them. The bright colors made her skin glow in the daylight. Already, she was more beautiful than I could fathom.

She smiled when she saw me, and my heart stopped. It lurched in my chest, threatening to erupt from it. I choked. My fingers waggled in the air, a desperate effort to wave hello. I walked over to her, already wondering what it would take to see her again.

“Sorry I’m late,” I breathed as I knelt down across from her, mirroring her posture.

“I can understand, given the circumstances,” she said, smiling at me coyly through her thick eyelashes. “Let me order you a Kinipōpō.”

“Uh, sure,” I said, settling in. Whatever a Kinipōpō was, I suppose I’d be about to try it.

“I can see your skepticism,” she said. “Don’t worry, it’s just a traditional Nari’e tea. We make it from a root we call Kinipōpō as well. It’s what I’m drinking.” She lifted her tiny cup, a handmade ceramic with no handle.

“Do you drink this often?”

“It’s my favorite,” she said. “It makes me think of the islands.”

“Have you ever been there?” I asked, the question dead in my mouth. Of course, she’s never been there; it’d be impossible. They’ve been uninhabitable upwards of a century, and she wasn’t a day over twenty. Her face soured, unspeakable sadness washing over her eyes.

“No, but our family speaks of it as if it’s still as it once was, retelling the memories of our ancestors. My great grandmother was born there. Though she’s not always… lucid.”

A waitress I hadn’t yet noticed suddenly appeared at our sides holding a tiny tray with an equally tiny cup on it, identical in nature to Mea’s, but unique in its own construction. It clearly was handmade too, but in the same fashion. The waitress gave me a small, tight lipped polite smile, carefully placed the ceramic onto the table with a clink, and walked away, empty tray aloft.

I stared down at the light brown liquid. The steam wafted up from it, carrying with it a pleasant, earthy, and herbal smell, almost like a medicine. I wasn’t sure what to think about it. Would it taste like the leafy tea I was used to? Or more like… a home brewed remedy? I didn’t want Mea to think I wasn’t cultured, so I picked up the cup gingerly and took the lightest of sips, barely wetting my tongue.

It was a strong flavor, heady, similar to how it smelled, but with a distinct sweetness that I didn’t expect. The liquid, hot and steamy, warmed me as I drank it, the heat spreading through my throat and into my extremities. I felt myself become sweaty nearly immediately.

I looked up to see her brown eyes watching me, the color of freshly turned soil, the shape that of upturned and perfectly formed almonds. She looked amused; did I make a strange face?

“Do you like it?”

It surprised me that I didn’t have to lie. “I do,” I said, the surprise clear in my voice. “It’s very soothing.”

She smiled. “It’s my favorite thing to start the day with. A comfort, reminder of the home I never knew. It grounds me.”

I took another sip, just watching her. Her eyes were now far away in thought, and I dare not disturb her. Instead, I watched her, mesmerized by her face and dreamy expressions. In that moment, I wanted to give her everything she was dreaming of – whatever it happened to be.

“We live in such an advanced society, I can’t believe we’ve done nothing to fix it,” she said suddenly. “Such a tragedy… so many homes lost…so many lives… at least Aruga was kind enough to open their borders to us simple savages.” Her tone grew cold and angry with every word she spoke.

I blinked, shocked to hear the conversation turn this way. Aruga had been kind enough to open their borders to the refugees, allowing them a sanctuary in the cities, a place to sleep, a chance at survival. Why was she so angry?

“What happened in the islands was an accident. The scientists that investigated deemed it a wild radioactive volcano, poisoning the wildlife and people there. The madness that resulted wasn’t anyone’s fault, just…sometimes bad things happen.”

She stared at me, her almond eyes sharpening. “Oh, bad things happen, do they?” She sighed and looked out the window onto the street, watching the people bustle by with their lives. “I know I’m bitter. But it’s nearly been 100 years. I ache to see my heritage, to bring my grandmother back to her home.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t have an answer for her, no solution. “Would you like to go on a walk?” I picked my half empty cup and finished it. “I’ll pay for your drink. Let’s go distract ourselves from the past. What do you say?”

She watched me for a moment, contemplating. Then, she picked up her cup and finished it, just as I had. “Alright, Torven. I’ll allow you to play your games. But before we go, there’s one more thing I want.”

She didn’t deem to tell me what it was, instead, rushing up to the counter to speak to the waitress. A minute later, the waitress returned with two small greasy bags, holding them out to Mea. She took them, turned back to face me, held the bags up like a golden prize, and smiled.

Hurriedly, I typed in the necessary information on my WaComm to pay for our meal, noting the expensive cost. It was more than I thought it would be, although Kinipopo must be harder and harder to get by. It was suicide to travel to the islands, and it was probably nearly impossible to grow it here in Aruga. Tropical vegetation was a tricky bunch, or so I’d heard.

~

The street was busy this morning, even for a weekend. People still rushed to work, some clicking away on their WaComms, others simply speeding by in their cars on the street. In comparison, we were lazy, strolling up and down the side streets, people watching and taking in the sights of the city.

“What’s in those bags?” I asked, curiosity burning within me. She held them like they were sacred, precious items, carefully and tightly holding the bags closed while we made our way to the street.

“Puni,” she answered, which was no answer at all. I didn’t know what that meant. It could’ve been anything; it was obviously Nari’e, and I didn’t speak their language.

“…and what is that?” I questioned further when she didn’t elaborate.

She laughed. “It’s twisted dough, fried, and coated in sugar.”

“Well then, share.”

She laughed again, passing one of the bags over to me.

Tentatively, I extracted a Puni carefully from the bag. I turned it over, eyeing it carefully. It looked just like any other doughnut I’d had before, but in a different shape. Was it really so simple? I took a bite; yes, it was. Simple and perfect, exactly what I wanted.

“So, Torven, tell me about yourself,” Mea said between nips at the Puni that she held delicately between two fingers.

I blanched. What do I say? “Uh, well, my name is Torven,” I sputtered, nearly dropping the Puni. ”Which you already know. I attend the graduate school at Aruga State for sociology.”

“Sociology?” she said, clearly surprised. “A learned man, I see. Not politics, though?”

Obviously, she knew who I was enough to ask that question. My last name had given it away last night, that much was clear.

“Eh, I’m sure someday. My father would never hear otherwise. I have to continue the family legacy, he says. But right now, I just want to learn how to help our country. Taking a closer look at how life really works here, how society functions here, is one way to do that.”

“That’s a perspective you don’t often hear from politicians,” Mea said.

“I’m not one!”

“Sure, ‘maybe someday’ Montgomery.”

I laughed; I couldn’t help it. “I know I’m naïve to think that I can find the answers to all of our problems in a textbook, but I don’t think it hurts to look.” I took another luxurious bite of the Puni. “What about you? I know barely anything, and here you know too much about me as it is.”

“You’re right, it’s far too uneven. I owe you some answers,” she allowed. “Where do I start?”

“Anywhere you like,” I replied. She didn’t immediately talk, so I decided to help her out. “How about your family. You mentioned your grandmother. What about your parents, or siblings?”

“Hmm, alright. My parents work their fingers to the bone in the textile factory, the same one. My grandmother lives with us, and we all help take care of her.”

“We all? How many of you are there?”

She reddened. “Seven.”

“Seven kids?!”

“Yep, there’s seven of us,” she said, her voice trailing off. “Four brothers and two sisters, then me. I’m the third oldest.”

“I can’t believe you have that many siblings. I don’t have any.”

She gave me a look. “I believe that.”

“I have so many more questions,” I said, surprising myself that I genuinely wanted to hear more about her family. “It sounds like you have a crazy household. I bet it’s full.”

“Not right now,” she lamented. “Too empty.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s talk about something else. What do you want to achieve with your degree? You say you’d do politics for your father, but what is it that you really want to do?”

I knew she was changing the subject to avoid some painful topic, but I allowed it. She didn’t know me well enough to tell me, but I was dying to know. She was a puzzle I had to figure out, and a mystery to solve. It looked like I would have to be patient to find all of the clues.

“I’d like to help people, in whatever capacity I can,” I said. “I’ve come to terms with my father’s expectations, the city’s expectations of me. I can help people as a politician, maybe even a lot of them. I’d like to try.”

“When do you graduate?”

“Here in a few weeks, actually.” I looked up at her, hopeful, her golden jewelry glinting in the sun and temporarily blinding me. “Maybe you can celebrate with me when it’s all over.”

“I’ve seen how you celebrate. I’ll pass,” she said, though she wore a slight, tired smile.

I blushed. “I don’t usually… spend my evenings that way.” I swallowed hard. “My friends… well, colleagues… took the reins on the entertainment.”

“You’re allowed to do whatever you like in your spare time,” she said. “Freedom is the ability to choose, and I’m not judging. Nari’e people believe in the pursuit of personal happiness, as long as it’s not at the expense of others' paths. It’s our most core belief.”

“Can you tell me more about the Nari’e? What they’re really like?” The sociologist in me was reeling at the chance to interview and learn more about the Nari’e culture from a real Nari’e woman. The man in me just wanted to hear her speak.

“Hmm,” she huffed. “I’m sure you know some of this.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“We’ve always been tight knit, living in communes on the islands. It’s similar now, just a different environment. My grandmother told me that the most revered of our people were the inventors, the engineers, the creators… we didn’t use technology in the way we do here, everything was tidal powered, simple machines, but elaborate systems to perform the tasks we needed. My people thrived in the tropical climate, lived off of the islands’ gifts, and worshipped the sun, the sand, the sea.” She sighed. “We’ve always been careful to tell the stories of our ancestors through oral tradition, learning the language of our forefathers, our customs. But now, it’s warped…” she trailed off.

“What do you mean, it’s warped? What is?”

“Our culture, our lives. You see us as savages – don’t lie. We came rushing to your shores, escaping that sudden island madness, bringing only our island tools. Aruga is used to their costly tech, so you see us like we’re children experimenting with rocks, treat us like vermin, shove us in a corner of your city like a cage, barely allow us any civil liberties. We are merely permitted to exist in sufferance, at your leisure,” she spat.

I blinked.

“Ka Po’e stand up against these injustices,” each word enunciated with a sharp tongue of poisoned knives, “and we protest the government that seeks to keep our heads down. We would be your guests, except even guests get a seat at the table.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” I stuttered.

She sighed again, for the thousandth time. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take it out on you. By law, I am a half-citizen of Aruga, as I was born here. As were my parents. But I still am not Arugan. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I think I do.” I didn’t. “But maybe you could help me truly see.”

“You want to understand what I’m all about? What we’re all about?” A wolfish grin haunted her pretty features, making her look fierce and alien. At the same time, I wanted to kiss her. “Come with me.”

She took my hand, and we began to run, pulling me behind her. I didn’t know where we were going, but the adrenaline pumped through my veins, the excitement and curiosity fueling me to push farther, faster. This went on, our lungs heaving in sync, our breath heavy in a pair, and I couldn’t think of a better place to be.

“I could’ve….driven us here, you know,” I said between panting breaths. “It would’ve been… faster… and easier.”

She only smiled at me, her hair wild, loose from its clip, her eyes afire and her cheeks flaming red. Her teeth were white and sparkly, the canine glinting at me in the sunlight. She was untamed. “It wasn’t so far.”

“I didn’t realize I was on a date with a superwoman,” I joked. “We ran for at least a mile straight.”

“Oh, so this is a date?” she said, eyebrow raised at me, her feverish face grinning back at me, all mischief and pure vivaciousness.

“Is it not? I paid for the food, and now you’ve held my hand,” I pointed out helpfully. “For a whole mile, even.”

She leaned in close to me. I forgot how to breathe.

“Awful ambitious, lover boy,” she said, her brown eyes becoming molten honey in the sun. “I’ll let you know when it’s a date.”

My brain short circuited. “Yes ma’am,” I said, years of etiquette training and politeness taking over to the default response.

She laughed at my obvious reaction to her. I felt the heat rising in my cheeks, my involuntary reaction to her close proximity. She knew the effect she had on me by now, of that there was no doubt. It wasn’t until now the thought even occurred to me to look up. We were in front of another restaurant, but this one was distinctly Arugan, judging by the name.

“At the risk of sounding… stupid,” I said, directing my attention to the tiny restaurant in front of us. “What are we doing here?”

“It’s not a risk if it’s inevitable,” she replied. “And there’s something I’d like you to see.” She started walking to the front door. “Follow me.”

Blindly, I did. I had no idea what I was walking into, what I was doing, but all I knew was that I had to know more. This woman was intoxicating; something about her had me drugged. I glanced at the door as she swung it open, noticing a sign with large, red letters that read ‘No Savages’. Mea ignored it, pushing through regardless, her confidence oozing into every step she took.

She passed by the hostess, who glared at her, promptly seating herself at the counter next to an elderly man. She nodded at him in hello; he laboriously turned his head to view her through heavily hooded eyes. I sat myself on her other side, nervous and posture stick straight.

“Are you hungry already?” I asked. We had just come from breakfast, after all. How could she be hungry?

She shook her head, then caught the eye of the waiter behind the counter. “I’ll have a water, please. Ice.”

The waiter was collecting food from the cook onto a tray when he stared back at her. He shot his eyes towards the hostess and the door, then silently continued his work, piling plates as precariously as possible, balancing the food just so, ready to take it out to the customers.

The door swung open, just as it had for us, but this time, a windstorm gusted through. The entrance was kept ajar, held back by a Nari’e woman with long braids. She looked familiar, somehow. People flooded through, of various shapes, sizes, and colors, yet all Nari’e. They saw Mea immediately, and filled in around her, taking up the empty spaces at the counter, any empty tables, anything available. All too soon the tiny restaurant was filled to the brim with bright eyed Nari’e, waiting to be acknowledged or served.

The woman who had let them all in, pushed her way through to Mea.

“Mahalo kēia hui’ana, Ha’ana,” Mea said, smiling as she greeted the woman in their native tongue.

“You need to be more careful,” Ha’ana whispered sharply through a tightly clenched smile. “Why did you come here early, and by yourself?”

“I’m not alone,” she said, gesturing to me.

Ha’ana’s eyes met mine, and recognition suddenly flashed through them. This was the woman I’d met last night with Mea, the one who I’d thought was the leader at first. She was Mea’s right hand person, the second in command of the Po’e. I shrank back from her stare; I felt as if she were staring down into my soul.

“This asshole that you met last night?!” she hissed. “He does not count!”

Mea shrugged. Ha’ana seethed. I tried my hardest to blend in.

In my peripheral vision, I noticed some movement aside from the quiet bustle of whispers from the gathered Nari’e. The hostess was speaking to the cook, the head cook, and possibly owner of this establishment. She looked angry, and her words seemed to be making him turn red. I half expected steam to rise out of his ears. She was pointing with a sharp finger at the people seated inside – doubtless the Nari’e. This wasn’t going to go well, I could tell.

The head cook pounded over to us, his thick arms crossed in front of his wide belly, his full cheeks as red as his forehead, the hostess following behind in hot pursuit.

“You need to leave,” the chef spat at Mea, gesturing with a ham fist at the rest of the Nari’e seated there. “We don’t serve you here.”

The hostess glared from over the chef’s meaty shoulder, her eyes piercing and nose scrunched. I saw Ha’ana tense up, her shoulders raised and fists clench. Mea didn’t twitch a single muscle, her entire demeanor still relaxed and calm. She ignored the comment, settling deeper into her seat. I shuffled in my own seat, incredibly uncomfortable. It was clear that these comments were not directed at me, even though I was obviously with this group. My prominent Arugan features, the fine, blond hair and pale blue eyes I sported garnering favor with the chef and hostess.

I gained the attention of the chef. As he hadn’t elicited a reaction from Mea, he turned to speak to me.

“Keep better company,” he advised through thin lips and gritted teeth. “Aruga shouldn’t bow to these savages.” He nodded his head at the exit. “Take your friends and go, or there’ll be trouble.”

I didn’t know what to respond; a common theme with me these days. My eyes flicked back between Mea and Ha’ana, seeing a peaceful façade and a sizzling anger, respectively.

“Uh, no, sir, I –“

A hand on my arm stopped my speech. It was Mea’s, silently asking me to stop.

“We aren’t doing anything wrong, here,” she said smoothly, her soft voice deliberate and calm. “We only would like to be served.”

“You didn’t see the sign?” shouted the chef, pointing his fat fingers towards the front door.

“That sign shouldn’t exist,” Ha’ana spat.

“And yet it does, bitch.” The chef redirected his meaty arm, his fist flattened into a wide, flat weapon.

His clumsy throw of hand, slowed by his considerable size, allowed Mea enough time to duck. Even still, her movement was fluid grace, easy, confident evasion, as if she had all the time in the world to avoid his blow. Regardless, Ha’ana stood hastily. Her braids flew in the air, one smacking me in the face, stinging, as she shoved herself between the chef and Mea.

“Get her out of here,” she hissed at me.

Surprised, I followed her instruction. I reached for Mea, who had already made to stand. We slipped out of the welling chaos, not quite erupted, but only moments away from pure violence. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the chef rise his hand to throw another blow, this time at Ha’ana. Her bared teeth glinted, her fierceness like that of a mother bear, defending her young.

Then the door shut behind us, and suddenly we were out in the street. We began to walk away, but as we watched from the street, the views from the window were nothing short of terrifying. Tempers flew, the chef having started the ruckus, other customers joined in, all doing their best to remove the Nari’e presence from the restaurant, any way they could.

“I hate this,” she said, pulling me away with tears welling up in her eyes. “I hate that I ask this of them.”

Stunned, I didn’t know what to say. I was still so confused, and I had so many questions yet to ask, words staying still on the tip of my tongue.

“Hell is breaking loose in there, because I asked for it! And my people are paying the price!” she yelled. We were half walking, half running, away from that cursed place. Passerby on the street gave us odd looks; we were going far too fast for normal walking speed, and now Mea was yelling to herself. They averted their gazes, though, unwilling to insert themselves into our drama. I envied them their privilege.

“Mea, what do you mean? What are you talking about?” I stuttered. “I’m sorry – I’m still so confused. You said you would explain what you’re all about, but all I have are more questions than before.”

She sighed. “Ka Po’e are a political activist group, as you know. All we want are the same rights as you in the nation we were born in. Ideally, we would be able to go home to our islands, but we know that’s not possible.” She looked up at me with baleful, puppy eyes, the brown irises glimmering and reflective in the sunlight. “That was a sit in protest. That restaurant is notorious for denying Nari’e, my people, and the legislature is ambiguous enough that they both can and cannot. It’s a foot in the door.”

“But it became so violent, so quickly,” I said. “How can that have been the right choice?”

“Don’t you understand? Change is violent,” she replied, sadness thickening her words, weighing them down with the responsibilities of a leader. “And we didn’t want that to happen. Every time we schedule a protest, a charity event, anything, we have the highest goals of peace. All we want is to get our voice across. But every single time we try, we are met with hatred. And what should we do, smile meekly while they kill us? Say thank you, while they steal our children and murder our families?”

The last sentence she spoke as if it were venom in her tongue, painful to say, but necessary to remove from her mouth. I was stunned silent. It was an effect she had on me often. I was smitten with this warrior queen, this activist. I wanted to understand her, to know her pain, to solve her problems. But something told me I needed a better perspective, first.

We had been walking for quite a while, almost to the Nari’e quarter of the city. There was a park nearby, tempting us with green and lush trees, freshly trimmed foliage and perfectly tended flowers to soothe our incensed minds. Wordlessly, I tilted my head towards it, silently asking we could pause for a moment. She understood me, changing her direction and speed to lead us to a park bench, shaded by a leafy tree, dappling the sunlight.

Delighted, I sat next to her on the bench. She settled in next to me, that dappled sun painting her hair, finding highlights that weren’t there before, reflecting from her septum ring, and glittering her fiery eyes. She straightened her clothes as she sat, flickering her eyelashes up at me.

“Can we be frank, here?”

“Well, I can be Mea,” she said, the corner of her mouth laughing at me.

I sheepishly grinned at her, then the seriousness of the conversation straightened my face. “Tell me what your people need. I want to help you. What can I do?”

“Nothing, probably,” she said. “But we’re dying here. We want peace. We want rights. We want to live. And apparently? That’s too much to ask.”

“Do you want to go home to your islands?”

“Of course,” she said, shifting in her seat so that she faced me. “But we know that’s impossible. We have to settle for the here and now.”

My eyes settled on her full lips, smooth and curved with no cupids now, instead. “The here and now?”

She smiled, the corners of her mouth beckoning as sweet as sugar. “Meet me here on Saturday, at three.” Without looking away from me, she typed something in her WaComm. She tapped it to mine, sending the message directly to me. I didn’t dare look away from her honey brown eyes, intoxicated.

I leaned in closer and closed my eyes, not believing what was happening, what could happen.

A breath of air, and she was gone.

I opened my eyes to an empty bench; she had left me, awaiting her touch, gone in an instant.

Saturday.