HER WEEKEND SCHEDULE usually involved helping Mr. Ghotham mend the apothecary situated at the busiest point in Kawah Valley; the Bazaar. Though five years ago her father had Jeremiah to assist and he had done his work diligently, her father still needed her help because on weekends customers doubled compared to weekdays. It was due to the fact that Kawah Valley Bazaar was one of the concentrated markets in the country where most of the visitors mainly from the soldiers' family that lived upon the northern border and also merchants from The Great Kingdom of Maha.

Yet that day business was a bit slow. A lot of the customers came in the morning and when the sun started to hang above their head, the number dwindled. Stella even got the time to reflect on her odd behavior during yesterday's event.

Jill did not attend class after that. Jacq said she was sick but Stella thought otherwise. She wanted to ask for forgiveness but she held her tongue. She remembered what Jill had said before and she does not understand what Jill meant. Maybe there was more than what Gitto had taught her? Was not the apology was supposed to be an act of basic etiquette in normal social values?

"The weather has gotten a lot worse these days," said Dr. Hemsworth, one of her father's loyal customers. He came every month to pick up herbs supply and he lived in the mountain near the border where the military troops were stationed. Though Dr. Hemsworth appeared stern and might snap someone's neck if you ever tried to start a conversation with him (that was what Jeremiah said to her) sometimes he does come to the shop bearing stories of recent ambush or the recent shuffle of top military officers.

"The news on the radio said that our queen condition is not improving either," her father commented. He was looking at his customer, searching for acknowledgment in his customer's face, whether the supplied batch this month was up to his customer expectation. The trust that they had built for the past three years would not her father misused even if the weather worsened or that the economy declining.

"Still, to compare the herbs that grow along the border of Surka near Bour Hill, the leaves were brittle and the colour and smell of the flowers were beyond comprehension..." he sighed. "Yet you managed to provide me better quality herbs I could ever find in this country, Sullivan." Dr. Hemsworth placed the herb that he examined back on the counter table. His face shows satisfaction as he always did when he finished examining it.

Her father smiled. "God blessed," he said while his hands delicately wrapping his product into its wrapper, then to be inserted into a big box containing Dr. Hemsworth's other order. "We were lucky that we managed to harvest it a week before year-end. The crops were dying that week. Every year," he added. 

After that, the process of buying happened. The one that she always wanted to do but she cannot.

Both her father and Dr. Hemsworth put out their hands on top of the big box and said their incantations.

"I, Sullivan Ghotham sell my herbs to you, Ottawa Hemsworth."

"I, Ottawa Hemsworth buy your herbs from you, Sullivan Ghotham."

The box glowed a brilliant blue. The air circulated around them making their hair ends floated. "Room 7, medical facilities, Bour Military Base, Bour Hill, Grace."

Every time she witnessed the delivery transaction, she cannot help herself from staring at her father's calm face, at Dr. Hemsworth's glowing back, and at the magic that slowly dissipated along with the big box. Since she had no magic to carry out the process, she had always been the one to step back and watch.

At the far end of the counter, she noted Jeremiah entertaining a group of schoolgirls from Kimberly Institute. They bought ingredients for making a potion that she did not recognize (potion making was regrettably one of her weak subjects since one of the key ingredients none other than magic itself).

"I heard that there this rebel group; the anarchist, are kidnapping girls around your daughter's age."

Stella could feel Dr. Hemsworth's gaze fell on her masked face. His eyes were assessing her feature and his voice was so low that the words formed on his mouth sounded so heavy and full of warning. "Especially those who had raven hair like her. The government didn't want to alarm the people for it will cause mass fear but I hoped that you kept a close eye on her."

Before he went, Dr. Hemsworth paid his transaction and bowed 45 degrees with his fedora on his stomach. It was a sign of gratitude and promise to come for his next buy out next month.

"Thank you and please come again," she saluted as he walked out the shop, head lowered with his fedora back on his head. His coat fluttered behind him. Every month she bid him pleasantries when he left the shop, she cannot help herself but think that his behavior was kind of similar to a noir character in the film she saw in the theater with Gitto years ago.

She walked to her father and a question popped out of her mouth like a popcorn kernel that had been heated for so long when it finally popped. "What does he mean by that father?"

Stella could see her father worried crease on his forehead but Mr. Ghotham being Mr. Ghotham, patted her shoulder with his gentle fatherly touch. "You heard what he said, dear. If any strangers come to you, run, and never look back. Copy that?"

She rested her head on the counter while her eyes trailed to her father, who nonchalantly arranged back the jars that he brought down from its shelf. Some of it had to use the ladder and store it inside a closed cupboard that lined along the walls of the shop. That was not she had wanted for an answer and it seems as though her father made it looked like he did not exactly understand her question.

"What is anarchist? Why there is one? Why did they kidnap girls? Why black haired girls?" she fired him question after question when she saw that her father needed help to hand the herbs to him.

Mr. Ghotham laughed at her questions. "Back at it eh?" he jested her with his crooked smile. He closed the shelf doors that stored small jars of agrimonies, apple leaves, and basils that usually used for treating wounds and digestions remedies. When both of his legs reach the cemented floor, he quickly took a stool that Stella handed him and sat with a relieved sighed.

"You did know that this country is governed by the royal family and that they were entrusted by our god to contribute their energy in making sure that the kingdom is peaceful and flourish. When the queen fell ill, the kingdom became ill. The earth beneath us, the sky above us, the air we breathe, and the water we drank. But when it was misappropriated, the balance will be tipped and that is why there is an anarchist. They become one because they think they can do the job a lot better than the royals are but as to the reason why they kidnap girls is far fetch for me to know don't you think dear?"

"Do you think what they did was right?"

"They may have the best intention but if their resolve is by kidnapping someone else daughter, it doesn't prove that they are good people. Now go have lunch with Jere. I'll look after the store and I want the usual please," her father pushed her towards Jeremiah who had done his business with the schoolgirls and was waiting for her by the threshold.

She could say that she 'like?' her father when it comes to when he answered her question though sometimes he liked to dodge it by redirecting it to Gitto. Her father would say it one by one as if she was a child that needed guidance yet he answered her fully as she was deemed to it. Her father was smart, kind, and caring. He showered her with love as much as her mother had and all she could ever do for them was to be a good girl. 

THAT EVENING WHILE STELLA was sweeping the floor for the preparation before closing the shop, she caught sight of a figure passed in front of the shop. He was tall with black hair. Both of his arms were hugging his shopping bags filled with fresh produce. She was thinking whether or not she should approach him. At last, she decided that because that boy was her best friend, there is no need to hesitate.

"Gitt!" she called. Her voice was really loud and to add because the bazaar was build in a dome-like shape, her voice had echoed throughout the hall. It would be a lie if her friend did not hear her especially now that visitors of the bazaar had thinned.

He heard her. He stopped walking and her friend twirled to face her. It was just that the one she thought was her best friend turned out to be someone else.

He had a smile on his lips but his brows were knitted. "Sorry," he apologized. "I'm not your Gitt."

If what people called her situation at that moment was a surprise, then she really wanted to express that kind of emotion in her words. Yet all that can be heard was her usual monotonic voice. "Sir Knight."

"Wrong!" he chided. He walked closer to her. "I told you in our class before, miss."

"Yes?"

He stopped in front of her. "It's EFF-ANN," he pronounced one by one.

"Anything's wrong dear?" Her father stepped out of the shop noticing that she had stood still out there. She was sure that her father heard her loud voice from the back shop. 

"Oh!"

Classic Mr. Ghotham surprised face.

"Good evening sir," the instructor offered. He put down both of his shopping bag beside him and extended his right hand. "I'm Effan, miss's instructor at the institute. Nice meeting you, sir," he said that made her father looked a bit surprised by his formalities.

Her father shook Effan's hand. "Sullivan, Stella's father. There's no need for formalities, Effan."

Stella could felt her father staring at her. He was asking for clarity as to this person in front of them. He may say that he was her instructor but the way he carries his demeanor moreover the way he speaks was entirely on another level. Maybe because it was his previous occupation? The one time he said that to her that his way of speaking was because of the force of habit.

"He used to be a knight," she said under her breath. Effan said so when they had a class together for the first time yesterday.

"You are?" Mr. Ghotham looked back at Effan. This time her father was giving an approving nod, understanding his outward appearance.

"I'm now just a humble instructor," Effan said humbly. He was smiling but his smile was not as bright as someone she knew. Guess she found another difference between Effan and Gitto.

As her mind drifted thinking about her best friend and their possible rendezvous later tonight, her father was the one who did all the talking and interacting. She wanted to meet Gitto as fast as the earth could spin. She wanted to talk and listen to him. To feel his warmth.

"Stella, could you bring Effan to our home first? I need to make one last round before closing the shop," her father suddenly asked.

It took her about half a minute to understand her father's words. "Why?"

Mr. Ghotham laughed. He then muffled her front hair. "I am inviting your instructor to have dinner with us. So can you please, dear?"

"Alright," she replied. Her hand was busied rearranging her hair back to its position. Yet it got disheveled again by her evil father's hand.

STELLA STOLE A GLANCED inside Effan shopping bag. She was helping him carrying one of his shopping bags and the contents merely consisted of meats wrapped in brown paper and a few vegetables. Everyone could tell that this man's diet was heavy on protein or that he was a picky eater, to begin with, just like Gitto.

"You have a very loving father, miss," Effan spoke while walking on her left side, making sure that she was on the inner side of the road.

"I guess," she said nonchalantly.

Effan smiled. Again she could not help herself to compare his and Gitto's. They were different people. They did not look the same. Yet, here she was kept on comparing non-stop. And his smile... she knew it somewhere that she had seen it before. Was that why she compared these two people?

"I'm an orphan, miss. I never know what it feels to have a father. You're very lucky," he told her so casually.

Was not this kind of topic a sensitive issue? And for them who barely met inside the institute other than the class, to share this kind of conversation. For him to speak casually, she wondered if she was the right person to talk to. Gitto too was an orphan but he never talks about things like this and she does not have any kind of guide to handle this delicate situation.

"Don't you have someone as your father figure?" she asked as she remembered that Gitto once told her that her father was like a father figure to him.

Effan smiled. "I used to. But it wasn't mine, for me to think like that."

"Can I ask why?"

"It's a long story."

"Oh."

"But you'll know later," he quickly said it.

"I will?" And why? She wanted to ask that too but she did not want to sound like a busy body person. But since he said that she will know it sometimes later in the future, her need for questioning stopped there.

"Yes, maybe not so suddenly like now but you'll eventually... I think it's better I stop talking, miss," he laughed at his own mistake.

Their walk to her house accompanied by several other idle talks though she mostly heard him talking about his messy room back in the institute or how several other boxes of his belonging got sent to a wrong address or that he cannot really understand why Miss Pendragon kept on being weird around him. 

Effan had a nice voice. Smooth and polite. He was kind too. He always made sure that their paces were even and he never pried much on her privacy. Though he did try to make the whole conversation was not about him only but because she did not have anything to talk about, he made the conversation as light as possible that she can relate to. 

To her, Effan was a person she newly and barely knew. She did not compel to talk about everything in her mind like she did to Gitto. It took Gitto a year to discover her 'true' self.

"We're here," she said. She opened the small gate and led him along the stone path to their front door.

"You had a lovely house, miss," he complimented.

She looked at her family's small house. It was a two-story bungalow with an attic painted in white milk and dark red roofs. It was an ordinary house similar to any other houses within the area. But they had a small patch of a flower bed, bloomed in pastel colour and rows upon rows of small greenhouse housing herbs and their seedlings. Some even grew outside of the greenhouse. To make it short, her house was filled with greenery even though in the middle of the winter season.

"Thank you," she replied.

"I heard you lived near your best friend's house."

"Gitto lives at the apartment complex in front," she showed him the building adjacent to her house, to the room that its windows were lighted up behind the cream curtain. "He rents a room on the second floor."

"Ah. An independent man," he said.

Yes, he is.

"Shall we?"