“Kiran? It’s Neela. Can you come over?”
“You okay?”
“Yes. Please just come.”
“…Is it the cat? I’m on my way. Over and out.”
I like this guy. He’s fast, protective. And I remember how he wasn’t as squeamish as Neela about my diet.
“He’ll be here in fifteen minutes,” Neela says.
“Great. Think I could get one of my pants back?”
“They won’t be dry till tomorrow. Come—I’ll show you where they are.”
Seriously? No proper washer-dryer? I think longingly of the one back in the Bakartia’s belly. Compact, solar-powered, could clean and dry a full outfit in minutes.
Should I tell her about it? Maybe better to go retrieve it quietly…
For now, I follow her to the kitchen corner. She opens a panel leading to a three-yard-wide greenhouse that wraps around the house.
And there they are—my top and pants, dripping among the flowers.
10-Neela
I lead Prax to his belongings. I’ve hung them above my lentil plants so they can catch every precious drop of water. At least, that’s what I usually do. But maybe my guest is right—maybe our old routines are outdated. If nature is now generous enough to give us more water, is it time we stopped obsessing over every drop?
I have to admit, his claims have left me a bit shaken.
We’ve always followed the Pact without question. Don’t waste. Take only what’s necessary. Be grateful.
We have access to plenty of films that depict the downfall of our own civilization—ours, wiped out by overconsumption. Food, shoes, wigs, makeup, decorations... everything was available in excess, with no regard for the consequences. Until Earth suffocated under it all.
So yes, we follow the Pact as if it were sacred truth, even if we know we’ve regressed compared to our ancestors. Even if some part of us is still drawn to the customs we see in those old movies.
Oblivious to my internal turmoil, Prax eyes his clothes with mild disappointment, pressing the fabric between his fingers before shaking his head. Not dry yet. No surprise—it’ll take hours.
I get it. He’s stuck here with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips, showing off that finely sculpted chest. And the short fur covering it looks incredibly soft. He told me maintaining his coat takes at least two showers a day. Honestly, I believe him.
“Don’t you have anything... less revealing I could borrow?” he asks.
Oh right! My brother’s about to show up, and Prax wanted to change clothes. Understandable. Even if he’s a visual treat, being half-naked probably doesn’t feel very dignified.
“I could lend you a sheet?” I offer.
“"A sheet it is, then,” he agrees.
Moments later, he steps out of my room, wrapped in a clean cloth like some Roman senator. Even dressed like that, he has a commanding presence.
“Two vehicles approaching,” he announces.
What? How does he even know that? I haven’t heard a thing.
But sure enough, my brother bursts in a few seconds later, Esteban hot on his heels.
“You okay? Did the cat do something to you?” he blurts out, frantically scanning me for injuries.
“Of course I’m okay! Why wouldn’t I be?”
