{ Even if everyone forgets you, we will still be waiting }
"How was lunch, Mayar?"
"It was delicious, thank you!"
"Did Kenjin send you as well?" Rina asked.
"Sent me?" Maria replied. "I think you don't quite understand what's going on. I am the housekeeper at Mr. Kenjin's estate. He told me that you two are living nearby now, so I decided to pay you a visit."
"I see... and we thank you for the visit."
"Your thanks is rejected," Maria said flatly.
"What do you mean?"
"You are struggling with the basics of cooking. You must become a lady of the house so you can care for your sister—or anyone else, for that matter."
"I admit I'm not very good at it," Rina muttered, "but I'm doing my best."
"Not good enough. As I said, starting tomorrow, I will help you master the basics and more. But for now, I want to speak with you about something important." Maria turned her gaze toward the little girl. "Little Mayar, could you go to your room for a bit? We need to discuss grown-up matters."
"Okay, but don't be too long!" Mayar stood up and headed toward the room.
"What is it?" Rina asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.
"You have many questions in your head; that much is obvious."
"I'd be lying if I said otherwise."
"First of all..." Maria paused, "What did Hakan tell you about Mr. Kenjin?"
"How did you know he told me anything?"
"I spoke with him on the phone this morning; it had been a long time since we last talked. He mentioned that he briefed you on some matters regarding his work. But do you know who Mr. Kenjin is as a person?"
"I don't. He always seems stern and a man of few words."
"That's expected. Anyone who sees him from a distance would think the same. But he never wished to be this way. Life, for him, was like a burning hell that never subsided."
"Did something happen to him in the past?"
"Let me tell you who Mr. Kenjin really is..."
...Many years ago...
And so, Madam Maria told Rina the story of Kenjin's life since his childhood—what he endured with his father and everything that followed. As Maria spoke, tears began to stream down Rina's cheeks; it seemed she could no longer hold them back.
"That is all I know," Maria said gently. "Wipe your tears, please."
"Is it... is it normal for a person to go through such things and remain so unshakable?"
"What he went through is exactly what made him hardened on the outside. But inside, there are wounds that have yet to heal."
"You could have just told me a few things," Rina whispered. "May I ask why you told me all of this?"
"The answer is simple. You have become part of the family now. You must know those around you from this day forward."
"Family?" Rina hesitated. "I don't think I've reached that level yet. After all, I am... a stranger to you all."
"Do you want to make me angry?" Maria's tone sharpened.
"No, please."
"Then never use that word again."
"...."
This atmosphere of tension and mixed emotions forced Rina to replay everything that had happened in her mind, right from the very beginning.
"As for now, let's clear the table."
"Alright."
Mayar started calling out from the room, asking if they were done talking.
"Come out, we've finished our chat," Rina called back.
"Then I'm turning on the TV!" Mayar exclaimed.
Mayar sat in front of the screen, flipping through channels. By chance, she stopped at a news station. The topic was the crime that had occurred the previous day.
"Regarding the crime in the Kinada district, the department is still investigating the circumstances of the strange murder that took place there. It has become the talk of the town after police inspected the scene and found no blood—not even a single fingerprint—anywhere at the site."
"How strange," Maria remarked. "A crime with no blood or fingerprints."
"I agree," Rina replied. "But it's okay; the police will solve the case."
"Perhaps."
"Anyway, I'll go wash the dishes."
A chilling sensation washed over Maria as she heard about the incident, as if something sinister was looming on the horizon. But she quickly brushed the feeling aside.
"It seems I'm starting to overthink things," she muttered to herself.
