The wooden chairs around the table were looking quite depressing, so one day they painted them, each choosing a different shade for their own chair. Bisma painted hers emerald green, while the others painted theirs yellow, pink, purple, and blue. It added some color to their house.
Then there were the wool sweaters and socks that needed to be checked and darned to prepare for the approaching winter. Already, the weather had turned; Bisma constantly wore a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and her tea consumption went up by about fifty percent.
The girls wore multiple layers—double the sweaters, double the socks—and fought over who could sit on the sofa in the patch of sunlight in the afternoon. The smell of citrus was constant in the house, as it was peak orange season now, and there was constantly one being peeled and split between them.
In the midst of all this, Bisma realized she had never replied to the mysterious letter she had received. When she was alone in her room or out in the Forest by herself, she read the page over often, folding and unfolding it until it became soft in her hands. Her heart warmed at the words:perhaps we can be lonely together.
Whowasthis mystery person?
Well, she would only find out if she asked.
Hello, and thank you for your kind words. They came at a time when I truly needed them, and for that I am grateful. You say you are a long-time admirer, yet you will not divulge who you are. Have we crossed paths? Do I know you? I confess I am curious.
I have thought over your proposition to be friends, and I would like to accept. I could use a friend, and it seems as though you could as well. I’m so overwhelmed by my circumstances; it feels as though I am an autumn leaf withering away on a branch, fluttering in the wind, holding on with all my might.
Falling—failing—feels inevitable. I have so many people counting on me, and I don’t want to let them down. I’m afraid I already have, and I don’t know how to fix it. But I suppose your previous advice still stands: to try, then try again.
It’s nice writing to you, even though I do not know you. I am sorry to hear you are lonely. I hope this letter brings you a bit of joy, as your letter brought me.
Your friend,
Bisma
Bisma sent the letter the same way the first one had been sent: through the Enchanted Forest. It would know what to do, where to take it.
As she patiently awaited a reply, she had a more pressing mystery to concern herself with: what had happened to Mei?
Bisma couldn’t figure it out. Mei retraced that day for Bisma, but it had been ordinary, spent in the Enchanted Forest, with all the girls. As far as Bisma recalled, nothing had been amiss.
Mei had not even been to town with Bisma that day; Bisma had gone alone. If the poison had come from the town, surelyit would have been Bisma who was poisoned, not Mei, who had been in the safety of the Forest.
Perhaps something had occurred while Mei was cooking? Some sort of chemical reaction between ingredients? That was the last thing Mei had been doing before she fell. But Mei was a kitchen-witch; surely her magic would never have such a drastic reaction? She had gotten cheese from the village a few days prior; perhaps it had gone bad?
Bisma considered whether perhaps it had been sickness instead of poisoning, but either way, she had no conclusive evidence. It was maddening.
It rained again a few days later, and Bisma took the opportunity to make everyone pakoray, the fried vegetable fritters proving to be the perfect snack for the drizzly weather, especially when paired with cardamom and ginger spiced chai. The girls all had different cultures and backgrounds; they learned from each other.
After eating the last of the pakoray, Bisma went up to her room at the top of the treehouse, looking for her bag. She and Luna needed to go to town to deliver poisons and run errands.
The soft sound of rainfall pitter-pattered against the roof of her room, a quiet, constant melody. When she entered her room, she saw a small square of white on her bed.
Her heart rate spiked. It was a letter.
Forgetting her bag, she rushed to her bed, reaching for the dirt-streaked paper. She caught her breath as she unfolded the square, and a thrill shot through her.
Thank you for your reply, and for agreeing to my proposition. You cannot imagine how overjoyed I am to be writing to you. Even more so to be lucky enough that you’ve accepted my offer of friendship.
You do not know me, not truly, but I would like you to, except for the small fact that I am a bit afraid of you, in the way one is afraid of people they admire, which makes me a bit shy. Hence why I am writing instead of approaching you directly.
I heard in town that someone close to you has fallen sick. Is she alright now? I hope she is well, and that you are, too. It cannot be easy being in charge, but please take care of yourself as well.
Your grateful friend
Bisma sat on her bed, smiling to herself. She pressed a hand against her chest, feeling her heartbeat race against her palm. It was nice to have someone to talk to, beside her sisters, whom she could never be fully truthful with. She would not burden them with her worries and doubts.
Without a moment’s delay, she stood to go to her desk, reaching for a piece of paper.
‘Baji!’ Luna’s voice called from below. ‘Are we going or what?’
