The tribe watched, stunned into silence.
Then, without warning, Kaya reached out and took his bowl.
Cutie looked at her in surprise, his hand still holding the side of the bowl. He hesitated, fingers curling into a light fist.
But then he gave a small, polite smile and said gently, "Do you want more?"
Kaya looked at him, her expression unreadable. Her face was still cool, but her actions were clear.
She reached over, took her own untouched bowl—filled nearly to the brim—and placed it in front of him.
"I’ve had enough," she said simply.
No dramatic words. No need for pity.
Just a quiet offering... from soone who knew what it felt like to sit alone with a half-empty bowl.
Cutie looked at the full bowl in his hand and then at the almost-empty one Kaya held. Only a few sips were left—barely anything. His eyes widened in alarm.
"No, you should... I don’t— I’m not hungry," he said in a rush, reaching out to take it back.
Kaya pulled the bowl out of his reach and stared him down. Her tone was quiet, but there was steel in it.
"Just eat it. Or I’ll throw it away."
Cutie froze. His hand halted mid-air, then slowly fell back to his lap. He looked down at the full bowl, then up at her—worried, hesitant. "You should eat sothing," he murmured. "You’re tired from last night..."
She looked him over—head to toe—and then, in a voice that was sharp as a blade, replied, "Do you really think, in this place, there’s soone who needs more food than you?"
Cutie blinked, his lips parted to speak but nothing ca out.
Kaya didn’t give him the chance. "And anyway," she added, placing the nearly-empty bowl back on the ground between them, "I’m not hungry. If you won’t eat it, throw it away. It’s tasteless."
The words echoed louder than they should have. Around them, spoons stopped mid-air. Conversations died. The fire cracked awkwardly in the center of the tribe gathering. Even the wind seed to hesitate.
The man who had cooked the stew—still wiping his hands on a cloth—froze, his smile twitching ever so slightly before faltering altogether.
Then another man nearby, unable to stay seated, shot up. "Is there sothing wrong with the food we served you?" he asked sharply, his voice raised just enough to stir the crowd.
Kaya turned her gaze toward him, her expression unreadable. "No," she said, calmly. "There isn’t."
She should’ve stopped there. Should’ve bowed her head, offered an apology—because she was, after all, a guest. But she didn’t.
Because from the mont she had stepped into this village, she could feel it. Their eyes, their intentions. Every smile too wide, every hand held too long. She wasn’t blind. She had seen this dance before—too many tis. In war zones, in foreign outposts, in broken villages where desperation dressed up as hospitality. She’d seen soldiers—n, won, anyone—coerced into unions they never asked for. Offered food and shelter not out of kindness, but as bait.
They didn’t see her. Not as a person. Just a "female." A walking womb. A prize.
They hadn’t asked about her ho. Her people. Only if she had a partner.
And so, no—she didn’t feel the need to pretend.
Kaya looked at the woman now glaring at her, the one seated near the cook. Her voice ca cold and clear, slicing through the heavy air.
"It’s not bad," she said. "But I’ve never eaten sothing like this."
The way she said it—calm, detached—struck harder than any insult. The entire gathering sat in stunned silence.
The woman shot up, hands clenched, voice sharp.
"It had salt! Do you even know what that ans?"
Kaya raised an eyebrow, unfazed.
"And?"
The woman scoffed. "You act like salt’s nothing!"
Kaya tilted her head slightly, her tone dry.
"Because it is nothing. It’s salt. Not gold."
"You think you can just eat it whenever?" the woman barked, eyes wide.
Kaya t her gaze flatly.
"Yeah. I can. Every al if I want."
Then, with a shrug, "What next? Is sugar a national treasure here too?"
Silence dropped like a stone.
People froze. So blinked. Even the fire crackled awkwardly.
Because here... salt was rare. And sugar? Untouched. Unheard of.
It wasn’t that Kaya wanted to start a fight. She didn’t co here to challenge anyone. But as she sat there, watching, sothing in her twisted.
She couldn’t understand it—how people could be so casually cruel.
Her eyes fell on the small bowl in Cutie’s hands. Barely a few sips. The man was built like a soldier, clearly worn down, yet not one person had bothered to care. They all sat together, laughing, eating from full bowls, pretending like he didn’t exist.
And still—he didn’t complain.
Kaya clenched her jaw. The anger rose before she could stop it. Not just at the way they treated him, but at the way these people looked at her too—like she was an object that had wandered into their space. A thing. A woman to ta or trade.
No one here had even asked her if she wanted to go back. They only asked about her partner. They didn’t see her, just what they could get from her.
And that fury, sharp and unshakable, built in her chest until it bled through her voice when she spoke.
The people around her stilled. No one dared speak—not after the way she said it. Her words weren’t loud, but they landed like stone. Certain. Heavy. Real.
Then, she stood up, brushing the dust from her clothes, and turned to Cutie.
"Anyway," she said flatly, "I’m leaving this place."
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