A Strange Lady

At the end of the day, Markara did not find himself in trouble. 

He hadn't seen or heard anything from William or his group since the incident that morning. 

As the final bell rang, he stayed behind to pack his things, placing a stack of printed papers on his homeroom teacher desk before going home. 

The classroom was empty now. 

Pisey, Thida and Vuthy had already left, along with the rest of the class.

Markara was the last one. 

He gave the quiet room a small smile, sluing his bag over his shoulder, and stepped out.

Today, he stayed later than usual because of the paperwork. It was almost sunset now.

Outside the school gates, the air was cooler. The street was quieter. He made his way to the front of the school and stood by the old bus stop, waiting for the next ride home. 

When Markara finally got home, the sun was already dipping low in the sky. 

As he approached the church gates, he noticed someone unfamiliar, a woman in an office uniform walking out from the chapel entrance. She looked neat, pretty and lightly out of place. 

She passed him quietly, not in a rush.

Markara gave her a quick glance and offered a polite smile. 

"Good evening!"

He said with his usual cheerful tone. 

The woman glanced at him briefly, gave a small nod, and continued walking down the street. 

Markara watched her for a moment until he saw another figure who was waiting for him at the front of the chapel. It was a foreigner, he had blonde hair and wore a priest robe. 

Markara watched the woman walk away for a moment, then turned his attention back toward the chapel.

That's when he saw another figure standing at the entrance.

A tall man with blonde hair, wearing a simple priest's robe, stood calmly beneath the cross above the door—waiting.

His expression was gentle, his posture relaxed, like someone who had been standing there for a while without complaint.

Markara's eyes widened.

"Father…?" he muttered, surprised.

When he reached his father, his father gave him a quick smile.

"How was your day ?" his father asked warmly.

"School was a bit intense today but everything is the same." 

Markara let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

The two of them walked side by side, heading toward the back of the chapel where their living quarters were located.

It was a small building connected to the church, a simple kitchen, a shared bathroom, and one large sleeping area. That's where Markara slept alongside several other orphans who were left to the church. 

The moment he stepped through the door, cheerful voices filled the room. 

"Brother Mark!"

"Big bro ! You're back!"

A group of young kids ran up to greet him, their faces lighting up with joy. 

Some hugged him around the waist, others tugged at his sleeve, all taking at one.

Markara laughed and gave each of them a quick pat on the head. 

"Alright, alright one at a time !"

"You know, today we all helped Sister Vatey water the plants and cook dinner!"

One of the kids beamed as he spoke, proudly pointing toward the dining area.

Sister Vatey was standing near the kitchen, carefully setting bowls on the table. She looked up with a smile when she saw Markara walk in.

The church wasn't very big, and only a small number of people lived here.

There were about ten orphans, all between the ages of five and ten, and they shared this space as one big family.

Markara's father served as the priest and was the one in charge of the church; he also taught English to those kids. 

And Sister Vatey, who had only recently transferred here, had become a kind and steady presence. She was just three years older than Markara, but she already carried herself with the grace and warmth of someone far beyond her age.

"Welcome back, Mark!"

Sister Vatey greeted him with a warm smile as she placed a bowl on the table.

"I'm back," Markara replied with a grin, dropping his school bag near the door.

Without needing to be asked, he rolled up his sleeves and quickly moved to help her with the table—carrying plates, setting utensils, and gently guiding the excited children back to their seats.

The room was filled with the smell of warm soup and steamed rice, the soft clatter of dishes, and the quiet laughter of children.

After dinner, Markara and Sister Vatey helped the children wash up and get ready for bed. They guided the sleepy kids to their mats, tucked them in one by one, and waited until the soft sounds of breathing filled the quiet room.

Once everything had settled, Markara heard his name.

"Markara."

It was his father's voice, calling from the kitchen table—the same place where they had all just eaten together.

Markara walked over, curious.

But the moment he saw his father's face, he knew something was different.

The warm smile his father always wore was gone.

In its place was a look of quiet worry, the kind of look he rarely showed.

"Yes, Father?" 

Markara responded, his tone calm but concerned. 

As he stepped closer to the table, a thought suddenly came back to him, The women in the office uniform, the one he passed at the antrace earlier. 

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Is this about that woman?" he asked quickly, his voice just above a whisper 

For a moment, there was silence. 

From the doorway, Sister Vatey stood quietly, her hands folded in front of her, watching them from the shadow of the door frame.

His father looked up slowly, meeting Markara's eyes.

"I think… you're mature enough to know the truth now."

His voice was calm, but there was weight behind every word.

"This year, you're already seventeen, my son."

The words hung in the air, louder than the silence that followed.

Markara stood still, not saying a word.

Then came the part he didn't expect.

"You've always wanted to know more about your mother."

His father paused again, eyes studying his son's face carefully.

And just like that—

Markara froze.

The word "mother" echoed in his mind.

It was something Markara had wondered about ever since he was a child.

His father had never spoken about her—not her name, not her story, not even a single photo.

She was a silent mystery that lived at the edge of his thoughts.

And now… hearing that word from his father's mouth—finally—

It filled him with something unexpected.

His father let out a slow breath, folding his hands on the table.

"I could tell you everything," he said gently. "But I believe… it's time you find the answers yourself."

Markara looked up, confused. "What do you mean?"

His father gave him a small, tired smile.

"The woman you saw earlier… her name is Akari."

Markara's eyes widened slightly at the name.

"She knew your mother," his father continued. "And more importantly… she came here today to speak about you."

There was a pause.

"She wants you to transfer overseas. To Japan."

"Why so sudden? What's going on?"

Markara asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

His father looked at him with a calm smile.

"Akari knows everything about you, Mark. She's followed your progress over the years. And with your achievements… getting into that school won't be a problem."

Markara's heart pounded.

"But, Father… if I go, then you should come with me," he said quickly. "We can go together—start over."

His father's smile softened.

"I can't," he said gently. "I have responsibilities here."

He tapped the table lightly with his fingers, then looked up at the ceiling above them.

"The church, the children… they still need someone here," he added quietly.

Markara stood in disbelief, his thoughts racing.

Who is she…?

Why now…?

His mind kept circling back to the woman he had only seen for a few seconds. The calm, unfamiliar presence… and yet somehow, she was connected to everything.

His father's voice gently pulled him back.

"Akari has already arranged everything for you."

He paused for a moment before continuing.

"Your flight is tomorrow evening."

Markara stood frozen, trying to process what he had just heard.

But then… he saw it.

A single tear slipped down his father's cheek.

It hit him harder than the news itself.

His father had always been strong. Calm. Protective.

Ever since Markara was a child, his father never let him out of his sight. He was always nearby—watching, guiding, shielding.

But now…

Now he was letting him go.

And that made it clear—this wasn't just a normal transfer.

This was something bigger.

Something even his father couldn't stop.