Ugly Fourteen
It was the day we slipped into the autumn of our fourteenth year.
"So, Ain."
"Yeah?"
The old man let out a deep sigh, muttering just loud enough for me to hear.
"When the hell are you gonna give that kid a name?"
"…."
"You've been taking care of her, you brought her here, and you're even teaching her. It's already way too late, but you gotta do it now, don't you think?"
"…, You're right."
"You can't keep calling her 'that kid' forever."
I didn't even need to think about it. I'd always referred to her as the woman or her. Sure, she had the name Bellia given to her in the story's setup, but I didn't want to use it. It felt like an excuse, like shoving her back into the plot. Like all my efforts so far would go to waste.
"Just like you're owning up to your choices, you need to own up to yours too, Ain. Before you head out on your trip."
"Yeah, I will."
"Good. Make it a nice one."
He'd nailed exactly the lame excuses I'd been hiding behind. As he pressed down hard on my head in response, then shuffled back to his spot, she filled the empty space as always.
"Ain."
"…, Yeah."
She always said my name precisely when she called me—Ain.
"Gonna head to the library after work today? Or, I mean, are you?"
She poked her head out with a beaming smile, slipping into polite speech out of habit, even though she still didn't have a name from me.
"Nah, not today. Why, got something you wanna do?"
"Just wanna hang out together?"
If I had to pinpoint why things were like this, it was probably because I was a coward. The hesitation from when she was younger had dragged on, and I'd kept putting it off with excuses like being busy. I had a few perfect shields ready, so I'd stuck to calling her the woman.
It was ridiculous, considering everything I'd done for her. And besides.
I already had a name in mind for her. Objectively speaking, I wasn't great at naming, but I thought this one was pretty good.
So I nodded at her words.
"Alright, then let's take a walk after work."
I figured it was time.
"Yeah! Promise, Ain?"
"Promise."
She twitched her shoulders happily at my nod, then toddled back to her spot with a do-do-do. I kept stealing glances at the clock. Every free moment, she'd tilt her head up, clearly wishing time would fly.
Her hand in mine was warm. The tiny hand I'd gripped back when I worried she'd get lost as a kid now clung to mine as if it were the most natural thing, refusing to let go. As we stepped out of the grocery store, she'd sidle up and wrap her warmth around my hand.
And more than ever, holding hands like this made me realize how much she'd grown. Her hand, once so frail it felt like just bones, scarred from stones thrown at her. So different from the delicate, feminine fingers I now held carefully. Those memories made me grip gently still, but now she squeezed tight, like she'd never let go.
"…, Hehe."
Lately, she'd been letting out these goofy, weird laughs. Probably scraps of emotion she couldn't control. She'd giggle like that, then startle and peek at me, fidgeting her fingers.
So I spoke naturally, to put her at ease.
"C'mon. Where do you wanna go?"
"Hm. Let's check out the market a bit first, then the square."
Oh god, please no. At her mention of the market, I shot back immediately.
"…, No maggots."
"No maggots?"
Heading to the market alleys usually meant she wanted one of two things: cotton candy or roasted maggots. I couldn't fathom why she'd love those two wildly different snacks at once. Cotton candy made sense—she remembered the sweetness from when I bought it for her as a kid. But maggots? Felt like she just bought them to mess with me.
"No maggots."
"For real, no?"
When I flatly refused, she'd lean in close, looking up with those eyes.
"No, for real."
"For realsies?"
This was straight out of Puss in Boots. Those big eyes staring up, and if you let your guard down, stab with the rapier.
"…."
"For real?"
She kept asking like that, so in the end, I was the one waving the white flag.
"…, Just one."
"Yeah! Just one, Ain."
She beamed and skewered two maggots on a toothpick, shoving them into my mouth. Today, my mouth was once again filled with maggot juice.
"Ain, tasty, right?"
"…."
Fuck, since when did "one" mean two goddamn maggots on a stick?
"Not tasty?"
"…, Tasty."
I couldn't tell anymore if it was tasty or shit, but at least I knew one thing.
Her name.
The letters forming her name kept silently screaming to change. Not the pretty ones I'd picked—uglier ones trying to fill in instead.
So.
No more maggots in my mouth. This is your last warning.
Anyway.
After wandering the market, we headed slowly to the square. The dark stage without lights had its perks—no one who might recognize her true self was around; they'd all moved on to the next act. It gave us freedom to move. Before they returned to this starting point of the empire, things stayed peacefully quiet. The novel's forced plot, which always dragged things south, actually helped maintain this peaceful daily life sometimes.
So.
"Ain, Ain. That statue grandpa is so ugly."
"…, That's the empire's first emperor."
We strolled the square, chatting about silly things.
"Yeah, the first emperor's ugly."
"It's not about being ugly… never mind."
Minus the childish banter, the scenery was pretty beautiful. Autumn colors stood out so sharply from other seasons. Everything carried its own glow in spots. Even things I'd thought were always just green started holding warmth, giving me this odd coziness.
"Ain, over there."
"Got it, just slow down… ugh."
She must've felt it too—the woman dashing do-do-do into the leaf pile, dragging my hand. More excited than usual, eyes sparkling like she'd found something fun, straight toward it. Grinning ear to ear, gripping my hand tight as she ran.
"Looks so fluffy."
"No, wait… this isn't…."
Ignoring my protests, she hopped right onto the thick pile of leaves.
But.
The sad part? That fluffy, cozy-looking pile shattered the illusion the moment you threw yourself in.
"Ain…, it's not fluffy."
"…."
More prickly and itchy, bad against bare skin. The colors were warm and inviting, but reality was damp and sticky, clinging everywhere.
"And leaves got in my clothes, itchy… but why are you such a mess?"
"…, 'Cause you dragged me."
So there we were, covered in leaves, looking like total beggars.
"Me too?"
"You're worse."
I pulled her out of the pile, stood her straight, and shook out her clothes, dislodging the invaders.
"Oh…, hehe. Itchy, Ain. Get the ones still in my clothes."
It must've tickled bad—she laughed out loud, uncharacteristically, then started trying to strip.
"Hold on just… no! You don't undress outside…!"
"Still a bunch left. Easier to shake 'em out if I take it off."
Nothing wrong with her logic, but this wasn't about right or wrong—it was common sense.
"No, think about your age! Hey! Stop stripping…!"
"Hehe, you don't know my age, so it's fine. Itchy, Ain."
I had to wrestle to stop her from stripping. Couldn't let a grown lady bare her skin outdoors. Plus, this'd turn from "gray witch captured" tragedy to "indecency bust exposes gray witch" farce.
"Argh!"
"Ain, don't get mad, just get the leaves."
"Don't strip!"
Quit thrashing like you're aiming for a bad end and stay still, damn it.
Our noisy autumn welcome ended like that. After a ridiculous tussle, we shook off the leaves, faced each other, and burst out laughing. Seeing our ridiculous states sparked the same thought: maybe hit the alleys after so long. Our steps led to that familiar yet awkward alley.
A filthy place reeking faintly. Dark without midday sun. Just ramshackle wooden shacks plopped around.
But.
"Ain, there it is."
"…, Yeah."
We didn't mind them rushing up close. After so much time there, it even felt nostalgically welcoming. So we stepped into that scene.
Approaching the rickety shack closer, we stared silently. The place she'd lived was rotting, waterlogged everywhere. Musty mold wafted from inside; the floorboards were fully claimed by it now.
"Look, Ain. The boards are more worn now."
"…, No one's living there."
Without human touch, things decay. Like objects have hearts—you gotta handle them, love them to keep their form.
So the abandoned shack lost even her warmth, crumbling away.
"Hm, gets worn if no one's there."
"…."
She scanned it slowly, then slipped swoop inside. Too big now to fit perfectly, but she knelt, staring blankly.
I spoke up.
"Miss it?"
Silly to say about a crumbling, stinking shack. But her touch held mixed emotions. Negative to me, maybe not to her.
Her answer came.
"…, No. It's fine."
Calmer, more relieved than expected, reaching my ears.
"Really fine?"
"Yeah. This isn't my home anymore."
"…."
She beamed beautifully. Struggling out, she looked straight at me, affirming.
"You and the old man gave me a new home. This can just be a memory."
She stepped forward. More grown than I'd thought. I'd figured she was barely catching up from behind, but here she was, smiling close.
"Let's go, Ain."
"…."
Now she grabbed my hand, leading the way—not waiting for me to pull her.
I had to admit it, watching her back.
That I'd seen her as too childish.
That she'd shot up into a mature woman.
And I said it.
"Asha."
"Huh? Ain, what's that?"
The name I'd agonized over forever.
"Your name."
"Wha…?"
I'd racked my brain to avoid Bellia.
"If you don't like it…."
"I love it! I love it, Ain!"
So I hugged her back as she flung herself into my arms, brighter than ever.
"…, Good."
"Thank you, Ain. Thank you…."
For the first time, I said it.
"Yeah, Asha."
"…Yeah, Ain."
I called the woman by name.
I hoped this name would twist her misfortune away.