The Potato and the Chikki
What's happening… what's going on…
I stood in the midst of a crowded marketplace, engulfed by noise, color, and life.
I tipped my head back and gazed upward. The sky above was a clear, cloudless expanse, the hot sun burning so intensely it made me wince. That light—warm and unforgiving—was something I'd not experienced in what felt like an eternity.
The wind bore a thousand aromas. Steam wafted up from food stands, twirling with the aroma of steaming dumplings and sizzling satay. Vendors hollered over each other to entice people to come, their calls mingling with the din and guffaws of the crowd until the entire market throbbed like a living heart.
I was stuck in place, watching only.
It had been… ten years, at least, since I'd seen anything like this. Ten years since life had been so ordinary.
Could this be a dream?
I should have died—my heart was broken. I should be nothing but dead flesh.
So why was I here? Was this some passing fantasy, my mind grasping at something from my past? Did I miss something so simple, so human?
A sarcastic laugh escaped my lips.
"What a joke."
And then I stopped breathing.
I could talk.
That was not possible. My throat had been destroyed a long time ago, ripped open until all I had left to give was silence. Yet my voice had emerged clear—albeit thinnish, squeaky, like that of a little boy.
I looked up and gazed. No scars. No calluses. Just small, soft hands that could not possibly be those of the adult I was now. My view was lower, as well.
A child's body… mine.
"Could this be one of my old memories?" I grumbled.
But… when? I couldn't remember ever strolling through the marketplace this age.
As if responding to me, I saw a man pushing through the throng, desperate, looking. My escort. The memory fell into place.
Yes. This was that day—the day I had snuck off and met her.
I spun around, and there she was. A girl about my age, fighting with a basket larger than her head, her tangled hair falling into her face. Filth stuck to her clothes, but when she recognized me, she grinned as if she'd discovered a treasure.
She extended a steaming potato with both arms.
"Want a potato?"
The words struck me like a thunderclap.
".Huh?
It was the same, exactly. That first encounter, that first proposal.
I recalled what I had told her then. My mouth had twisted, my tone sarcastic with conceit: How dare you give me something like this! Maybe I had uttered something even worse. I couldn't recall the words precisely, only the humiliation of them.
Why? Because she wore ragged clothes? Because I was too arrogant, too shortsighted? No explanations counted. I had just been a spoiled kid.
If I had known what she would turn into… if I had known where the road ahead would lead me… would I have been nicer to her?
I hoped so. But truth stung harder. At the time, I was too clueless to mind.
Her soft voice snapped me back to reality.
"Erm… uh… Don't you like potatoes?"
She recoiled when I didn't respond, and her voice was shaking.
I observed her. Rags for clothes, hair covering her face, face smeared with dirt. Anybody else would have taken her for a beggar.
A bitter chuckle escaped. "If this recollection is the one being presented to me, I guess I was really regretful about it."
"Eh?" She tilted her head, confused, not getting what I was mumbling.
Would the illusion wipe away my regrets?
No. Never.
But I did reach out and claim the potato anyway.
Her whole face lit up, a smile unfurling wide, missing one tooth but full of warmth.
"Thank you ever so much," I said quietly. "I'll be happy to eat this."
Her cheeks reddened.
"Ye-Yes…! That's from me me g-grandpa's farm!"
She picked up another potato from her basket and bit into it, steam curling.
I followed suit. And immediately regretted it.
The potato was piping hot. Heat charred my tongue, my cheeks flushed with red as I fought to chew.
She laughed out loud. "Ahaha! Your face is red!"
I glared, but couldn't help it. She, inexplicably, chewed hers without hesitation. I gritted through, swallowing bite after bite until I could breathe again.
She inched closer, eyes glinting. "It's tasty, right?"
"Yes… it's delicious."
And it was. Aghast so. It was rich and earthy, comforting. It tasted real—too real for a dream.
I'd hardly finished when a shadow fell across us. My escort had finally found me.
"Young master…" His voice was laced with relief, but also with reprimand. His eyes landed on the girl, and immediately hardened. His hand crept to the hilt of his sword.
"How dare you lay hands on—"
"Got any chikki?" I cut in.
"…Huh?"
"Have you any chikki?" I insisted again.
He blinked, shocked, and rummaged at his robes. Miraculously, he produced a small packet.
I snatched it and faced the girl. "You want to try this?"
Her hair still masked her face, but I noticed her eyes expand. "R-really? You're giving me this!?"
I smiled weakly. "You gave me such a yummy potato. I can only return it with this paltry gift."
Fact was, I survived on sweets during those times. My tantrums had been appeased with chikki more times than I could remember. That my bodyguard—trained to use the knife—was reduced to carrying sweets for me… maybe that was its own humiliation.
But the girl didn't realize that. She jumped up happily, almost dumping her basket of potatoes. "Oh thank you so much! This is the first time I've ever been able to eat something like this!"
"Really? Hey, you got any more?" I said, looking back over my shoulder at my escort.
"I'm afraid not, Young Master," he replied formally. "That was the last one."
"Aww…" I grumbled, disappointment settling in my chest.
My companion was gazing at me oddly now, as if my own presence had changed.
I furrowed my brow. "Why do you always look at me like that?"
"Oh, it's nothing, Young Master," he replied hastily, eyes dropping.
At the same time, the girl set down her basket delicately on the floor and gripped the chikki in both hands as if it were gold. She took a bite.
Her eyes opened wide. Her entire body rose, shoulders shaking. "I-it tastes so good…"
"I wish I had more to give," I confessed.
She vigorously shook her head, hair bobbing.
The sweet was gone in a handful of bites. When it had finished, her lips shook, and there were tears in her eyes.
"This was the first time I ate something as tasty as this…"
I smiled weakly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."
She hastily stuffed another potato into her mouth, but her face gave her away—nothing was better than the flavor she had just experienced.
She looked at me hesitantly after a brief moment.
"Thank you… May I have your name?"
Her instant shyness caught me off guard. Why was it more difficult to ask for a name than to give one a potato?
I stood up and announced in a distinct voice, "Davis Fireheart. My name is Davis Fireheart.
The names rang out in my ears. It had been such a long time that I'd said my own name.
She spoke it gently, tasting it on her lips. "Davis Fireheart…"
Her lips curled into a shy smile. And just as she was going to say more—
"Isabella!"
An old man burst out of the crowd, carrying her off in his arms.
"Grandpa!" she cried, holding onto him.