A promise is just like an assurance.
A guarantee. A binding oath.
It's something meant to be kept and fulfilled, yet many fail to do so. It can be forgotten or broken in a fleeting second.
That day, my father asked me to promise him something – something which was salient – and I said yes without even thinking.
I regret it now.
Yet, I wanted to try my best to keep my promise. I wanted to make him proud.
I wanted my father to love me.
To praise me.
When I first saw Pran, I was a bit surprised. I don't know, I expected the people of Horsetown to be more… dirty.
He was tall. Strong. Sturdy. Slim.
I approached him in the Rykdom when he was roping the ponies.
"You're from Horsetown," I said.
"Saddler's Kot, ma'am," he replied. His voice was deep and gruff. I could see his Adam's Apple bob about when he swallowed.
His black hair was coarse, and I felt a sudden impulse to run my fingers through those fine strands of hair.
"Right. Saddler's Kot. Horsetown. It's the same thing," I muttered. "You're not gonna go in there?"
Everyone had gathered inside the mansion except him.
He simply shook his head in denial.
"Oh. Okay. Come on," I beckoned him over to one of the wooden benches under a short tree with pink blossoms.
He just stared at me.
His dark eyes were wide.
"What, you just gonna stand there forever?" I rolled my eyes inwardly.
"Sorry," he whispered, and took a seat.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Pran." he replied monotonously. He didn't look at me as he spoke. He was continuously fiddling with his dark fingers and tapping his feet.
I blinked. Normally, I would've done the same too. I get nervous around people. Anxious.
But I wasn't nervous around him.
He didn't gawk at me, like most people do. He made me feel comfortable.
"That's a nice name," I said.
He nodded. "What's yours?"
"Yale," I said.
"Yale."
He smiled.
I liked the way my name rolled off his seductive tongue. It sounded nice.
"So, um, how old are you? Twenty?"
"I'm seventeen," Pran replied.
I was surprised. He looked much older.
"And you? Eleven?"
"What?! No! Fourteen."
He finally looked up at me. "Oh."
We were silent for a long time, and honestly, it was suffocating.
I needed to break the tension.
"What happens when a flower blushes?" I asked.
He looked at me, confused. "What?"
"I'm sure a question isn't the answer to a question."
I raised my eyebrows.
"Well, um, I don't know — what happens?"
"It turns rosy," I said, laughing.
"That wasn't funny at all," he muttered, but he was smiling anyway. "That was so weird, Yale."
"I tend to do that when I wanna keep a conversation going but I dunno what to say."
"Okay. I have one too…" Pran said.
His smile was beautiful; it lit up his features.
"Oh? Tell me!" I said, excited.
"What did the pony say when she had a sore throat?" he asked.
"I dunno, what?"
"I'm a little hoa-rse!"
I chuckled.
He did, too.
. I pointed upwards towards a dangling pink flower above his head. "Looks like she finds it funny too!"
We doubled over, laughing, but the laughter stopped when Pran's father came over.
. I wanted to talk to Pran. I wanted to show him around.
Pran's dad's voice jolted me from my thoughts.
"Be seeing you, Miss Barclay."
Be seeing you!?
I'd meet Pran again.
My heart fluttered.
Pran turned to me. His eyes were wide with shock. "You're Yale Barclay?"
I just smiled and nodded.
"Tell your father we'll be coming back with the rest," Pran's dad said.
"We're – wait – we're coming back!?" Pran said.
Pran would be coming back.
"Day after tomorrow."
Day after tomorrow.
I wanted to give this boy something to remember me by. Something he would value. So I reached into my pockets and gave him the only thing I could. I poured them into his cupped hands.
The sight of my fair skin against his dark one was almost… beautiful. His hands were rough. Calloused. I liked the feel of his rough skin against my soft one.
"A down payment," I offered.
"You always carry seeds in your pockets?" Pran asked.
I wondered why he was surprised by this.
Everyone in Rykdom carries seeds.
"Seeds are life," I said.
"That they are."
He crammed the seeds into his pouch and left.
And that's how it started.
My first time with Pran.
The brushing of our hands. The fluttering of butterflies.
A spark in my heart which would soon grow into a fire.
I knew I wanted to see him again.
I whirled around when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
"Father."
My voice quavered.
My father talked to me only if he wanted to point out my mistakes. Or scold me.
But now he was here to remind me. Something I'd assured him I'd do at all costs. Something important. Something for my Community, for my family. Something he made me swear on my life.
And so I did.
He turned back towards the mansion, to my home, to where all the men had just discussed something important.
And, under my breath, I swore.