【Sunshower Grove】 CH2.01: Astronomical Odds (I)
Updated: Oct 6
CH2.01: Astronomical Odds (I) 【Vi】
Mom was right about the riverside pathway; it was beautiful. Vi leaned against the stone balustrades that lined the edges of the path, his gaze lingering on the river. Despite its much thinner volume due to the horrid heat, the river managed to live somehow. The water streamed around rocks and stones; danced over felled logs, and ran along tree-lines. Come rain or shine, it always made its way to the sea. And if it ever dried up, it would come right back with a vengeance once storm-season hit.
You just never give up, do you, Vi wondered as he straightened up. When you meet the sea, please tell her and the sky to send some rain our way.
Within the next half-hour, he found himself strolling along the bustling tree-lined streets of Vriya City’s commerce district. Hundreds of red-tile-roofed shops, pop-up-stalls, and towering stores peeked from behind trees and foliage. A sea of candy-colored name-boards drew-in the eyes of curious customers.
Hands firmly in his pockets, he dodged and swerved past streams of shoppers along the footpath. The scenery constantly shifted from tea-shops and textile stores to handicraft shops.
Hand-stitched purses, wood-carved pens, and hand-painted notebooks greeted his eyes from behind glass windows. His gaze fell on the notebooks, and before he knew it, his fingers inside his pocket grazed the hardcover of his own little book. Briefly wondering if there was a time when his book ever looked like that, he continued on his way. Probably not, he thought to himself. But maybe I’ll get one of those covers for it one day.
In truth, his ‘secret diary’ of a little book was not exactly his to keep. It’s story went back to his time in juvenile jail; serving time for having beat the living daylights out of a man. Several months into his three-year sentence, he’d fallen into a painfully boring routine of school-work, chores, awkward meetings with counseling officers, and the occasional violent jail-fight. Going to the jail’s library felt like a field-trip every time he was on library-duty, and that was where he ‘met’ the little book.
Discarded and crumpled up at the bottom of a ‘used-books’ box, no counselor could’ve warned him of the absolute buffoonery he’d find within its pages. Because first of all, it was not a printed book.
It was a particularly small notebook full of handwritten lesson-notes, with any and all identifying pages ripped out. No name, no age, and no gender that he could figure out of its owner. But just from the lesson topics in there, he guessed that the owner must’ve been in the ninth grade or so. Everything else was a solid mess. Between the chicken-sh*t handwriting, unhinged metaphors, some of the most horrific-looking doodles he’d ever seen in his life, and a weird fascination with…buses, a part of him was convinced that no human being, regardless of age or emotional state, could produce such a cursed piece of writing. He still remembered how hard his heart beat as he looked around to make sure no one was watching before he stashed the book into a dark, dusty corner-shelf in the library. Away from the prying eyes of wardens, bunkmates, and jail-mates alike.
A place where only he would find it. And he did, over, and over, and over again. That singular, downright goofy book got him through some of the darkest times in his life.
His jail-fights took a nosedive, and he went out of his way to break up many of the more gruesome ones. No more half-assing work; he rushed his chores left-right-and-centre just so he could get away from the wardens’ watchful eyes. No more naps during class-time; he glared daggers into the chalkboard and finished all his assignments and homework right on time.
All that in exchange for more time at the library, where he could read that stupid, godsdamned notebook.
Most of the time, he hid it behind a massive hardcover while he read it. If the librarian wondered why Vi smiled like an idiot while reading a hardbound Physics book, he sure didn’t show it on his face.
Vi sought the little book like a child sought their favorite blanket, and it consoled him all the same. As soon as he’d slip it back into its secret spot and leave, he’d miss it. As if it it were a cute animal, or a kind friend. All that, for a tattered, torn up, squiggle-fest notebook. He knew it was utterly ridiculous. Just as ridiculous when one day, he was released from his sentence far earlier than expected on exceptional behavior.
Finally, the little book sat safe and snug under Vi’s shirt as the eldest jail-warden escorted him towards the main exit. Freedom and his family were just a few doors away. Until the old warden behind him pat his shoulder.
“You’ve been a good kid,” The warden said to him. “Didn’t take you for a book-thief, though.”
Despite everything he had been through until that point in his life, it was the old warden’s words that had terrified him the most. Although he willed his face to remain straight, his eyes quivered under the warden’s wary gaze.
Sht! They’re going to punish me, Vi’s mind whirled. They’re going to punish me again, and they’ll take away the book, sht sht sht what do I do—
“Keep it,” the warden muttered with a sigh as he ushered him out, “in return, make sure that you and that book will never return to a place like this again.”
Back home, he hardbound the little book with a boring, deep red fabric, and it soon became an indispensable part of him. It traveled with him across every city, job, and ride. It brought him so much more comfort than the dozen amulets and bracelets his mother made him wear. A small, hopeful part of him carried the book around in search of its true owner; if nothing else but to thank them. But he knew the odds were astronomically low. A boy could dream though, couldn’t he?
Fast-forward to the present, he knew the little book inside-out; every word, page, scritch, scratch, and botched-up bizarre doodle. It was his little best-friend, regardless of its feelings towards him. If it ever came to be possessed or sentient, he’d be happier for it.
Presently, he continued his stroll, taking note of possible landmarks from the directions on the map. He was getting close, and he almost didn’t like that. It really was nice to be outside like this, despite the hot weather. Something about trees, the smell of wood and paint from craft-shops, and the sound of wind-chimes and chatter; it was truly nice. And of course, his silly little book.
Some amount of silly was necessary to keep living. Silly still, he believed he’d be alright with the little book in his pocket. Even if his Uncle worked him to the bone; even if he never found real friends again, and even if he could never run away and try to find a greater meaning to his existence, he’d be alright. As long as he had his precious pile of cursed papers on him.
Not the time for an existential crisis, he warned himself, taking a deep breath. Not now. The store should be right about here—
In the distance, the light, muffled hum of a song drifted along from one of the shops. It sounded vaguely familiar, until the lyrics reached his ears.
“…a golden-rain tree. You’re mine…”
He darted his gaze towards the music as he recognized the melody. It was an ancient folk-song from around those parts, often sung by heartbroken lovers, or by children too young to understand its lyrics.
It was called ‘Sunshower Grove’, about foxes marrying under a golden-rain tree. It was popular enough that he’d read it in the unhinged depths of the little book as well. Here in Adita, the story entailed that it was two foxes that got hitched. But he remembered Mom telling him that back in Jāla, the belief was that foxes married cats. Other cultures believed it to be foxes marrying dogs instead. Sometimes it was jackals. Sometimes it was mythical creatures. But they all sang about the same thing: sunshowers.
Strangely, it was the fox-and-cat version that he found in the little book. It was hard to forget. The lyrics had been scribbled in there under two blobs with pointy ears that he assumed were a fox and a cat—disrespectfully so. Above that was what looked like several melting broomsticks that he assumed was the golden-rain tree; and around all that, was a vast, wiry, scratched up splotch that attempted to look like the sea, rain and sunshine. Sort of, maybe. If you squinted enough, and if you were drunk enough.
The only lyrics he’d ever come across within the cursed pages of the little book, and here it was cheerily drifting down town. He tried not to laugh.
A little bit of silly never hurt me.
Half-focused on the melody, he slowed down to a careful saunter. Looking around, he narrowed his eyes at the name-boards. Hopefully he hadn’t missed the spot.
His feet paused in front of an old, double-story tiled-roof shop, its signboard reading ‘Airavara Bookstore’. The music sounded much further away, but it was still loud enough to hear. The song looped from the beginning.
“When rain dances with sunshine,”
Looking around, his gaze landed on a slate signboard by the entrance; a welcome-sign with details about books on sale. As he began to read it, he suddenly froze in place; a fresh chill running down his spine.
“The fox and cat shall marry; Under a golden-rain tree.”
His gaze darted across the splotchy, jerky words, his eyes widening and lips slowly parting at the unbelievably familiar handwriting.
“You’re mine, all mine;”
Every single jagged line and ill-placed curve, scrawled in chalk. He’d seen them before, written with ink on paper. His gaze desperately roved across the signboard, unable to believe any of it. He knew those sharp, straight lines; the hasty edges and shoddy spacing of a person who probably thought faster than they could write.
“Eyes like stars in the sky; Yet not a soul left to see;”
Mouth running dry, a heavy pit formed in his stomach. His breathing quickened, tongue flitting out to lick his lips. The cheerful melody continued in the background while his thoughts raced. Inside his pocket, the little book sat firm in his grip.
“At Sunshower Grove, by the sea.”
The song would’ve ended there, but it immediately began to repeat much like his racing thoughts. Trying not to spiral, he inched closer to the entrance and sucked in his teeth.
No way, No f—king way, is it, is it them? It can’t be. How?! Are they really, really, really here? Oh gods, oh gods, no. No, wait. What if it’s not them, what if its just a coincidence, what if it’s just some crazy person, what if it’s all just—
“Suu,” a masculine, gravelly voice called from within the bookstore, jolting Vi out of his thoughts.
“Did you make sure you put up the right sign outside?” the voice asked.
Vi swallowed hard and chewed his lower lip, his fingers digging into the book in his pocket. Right then, a feminine voice yelled back from somewhere within the store.
“I did, Pa!” the voice whined angrily. “What kinda bum messes up a job that simple anyway,” she sounded about as vexed as her words. “Only wrong signs I’m putting up is when I’m racing a bus!”
The masculine voice groaned and sighed. “All because she couldn’t get a heavy vehicle license,” the voice muttered softly. “The bus-drivers knew better than to let an unhinged kid join their ranks.”
The conversation seemed to end there with no further replies from the feminine voice. Vi leaned beside the entrance and stared at the board for several minutes feeling lost, the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears. He blinked slow and steady, taking mental notes of the words he’d just heard. Words that he’d read before. He wondered if this was what reincarnation felt like, and took several deep, grounding breaths. If reincarnation felt like this, maybe being stuck in an endless loop of rebirth wouldn’t seem so bad; at least it would be funny.
Looking up at the signboard one last time to confirm he was at the right place, he exhaled hard. Then, he straightened himself up, put on his professional poker-face, and walked inside.
The music faded away into a distant buzz as Vi entered the store. Careful not to make any noise, he controlled his breathing and began to look around. The place was rather small, but well-lit. Cool daylight poured in from glass windows while the overhead light-slabs shimmered low with reflected light. Several rows of bookshelves towered up to the ceiling, stacked with colorful book-spines.
On the right side behind the counter, wooden glass-lattice sliding-doors seemed to cordon-off what looked like an art studio; judging from the jars of gamboge and rows of canvas that sat in a wonky pile by the door. A faint smell of paint and pine oil wafted across the space. Beyond the foggy glass of the closed sliding-doors, Vi could make out the faint silhouette of someone hunched over, presumably painting. Possibly the male voice he’d heard before. But he couldn’t be sure just yet. The store seemed devoid of people.
But wait, the feminine voice.
He was sure that person was in there. A small part of him hoped all of this was just one long fever-dream, but a much larger part of him was far, far too excited. Finally, he was so, so close to finding the person who matched the madness in his little book. But did he want to see? Knowing that this person was probably a girl?
What if she hated men, what if was married, what if she was—
He shrugged and took a deep breath again. Worst comes to worst, he’d probably just leave and never come back. People deserved peace, especially if the people in question took lesson-notes like certified gangsters. That little book belonged to him now anyway, it was all his. Finders keepers, or something like that. Yes?
He bit down a laugh when he remembered his Mom’s constant yes’ at the end of her sentences. Ah, Mom. The list.
Falling back to reality, his toes curled as they gripped his sandals. Get your sh*t together, dude. Like a moth to a fire, he searched the little store for the owner of the feminine voice; until he suddenly stilled at the sound of a distant scritch-scratch. For a moment, he wondered if it was the sound of someone writing.
No way, there’s no way, he frowned.
Jerking his head towards the noise, he slowly moved towards it, his jaw set tight and his heart pounding in his chest.
The sound came from the far-end row of the store, bright light from the windows lighting it up. Vi exhaled deeply and clenched his fists inside his pockets as he approached the shelves. There, a figure stood in the distance, in front of the windows. Light surrounded them; and Vi blinked several times to adjust his vision. And then he saw her.
A young woman stood hunched over, scribbling away at something on the shelf. Several stray curls danced around her face, illuminated by the light. Crossing and uncrossing her arms, she seemed entirely engrossed with writing something; and it was only then that Vi realized the dozens of ‘labels’ lining the shelf edges. Briefly glancing to the ones on his side, he realized they were single-line summaries of the books above them; written in a nearly-identical handwriting as the one in his little book.
It was impossible, he was sure of it, but proof stared at him right in the face. Literally so, because when he brought his gaze back to the woman, his eyes locked with hers.
Cat-like honey-brown eyes stared right into him, her eyebrows knitting into a slight frown. Although her face turned towards him, she was still hunched over with the pen’s nib still touching the shelf edge. Daylight outlined her into a halo-like figure; and he clenched down his teeth to stop his jaw from going slack.
Oh, no.
For the first time in his twenty-one years of existence, Vi felt absolutely exposed, his face feeling like it was on fire. He swallowed hard and stared back, his racing thoughts now coming to a screeching, grinding halt. But right as he began to tear his gaze away, the young woman’s frown vanished.
His lips parted again as he watched a warm smile spread across her face.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I will clarify though that the 'golden-rain' tree the story refers to is the Indian Laburnum tree (Cassia fistula). Please let me know what you think.
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