Chapter 270
At that time, in the intervals between writing sessions for his legendary horror novel Last Prayer, which was undergoing a massive revision, he often immersed himself in that virtual world.
Amid the sea of data and code that formed its digital mythology, there came a moment when his eyes lingered on a screen filled with long, dense text—a biodata file bearing the name Aldraya Kansh Que.
Thousands of words were neatly aligned, a digital biography that laid bare the history, roles, and beliefs of that entity.
Among the ocean of sentences—amounting to roughly eight thousand words—there was a single small yet piercing line that now resurfaced in his mind with stabbing clarity.
It was firmly recorded that Aldraya, throughout the immeasurable cycles of her existence, had never once worn an accessory known as a tie.
The reason was not merely aesthetic preference or comfort, but a conviction rooted at the most fundamental existential level.
To her, the knots formed by wrapped fabric were not decorations, but a symbolic architecture of betrayal.
Every tie, every loop, every framework formed around the neck represented the sinful attempt of beings to shackle, profane, and demean the name of the Almighty, Quil-Hasa, in whom she believed.
"First, cross the longer end over the shorter one.
Then loop it around and pull it up through the opening formed here.
After that, wrap it and insert the tip into the loosened knot you made earlier.
Finally, tighten it by gently pulling both ends."
Time moved forward, carrying them back into the corridor illuminated by morning light reflecting pale against the wooden floor.
There, Aldraya still stood firm within her own small battlefield.
Fingers that usually moved with lethal precision or an elegance untouched by the world now appeared clumsy, struggling against a stubborn strip of silk.
Her effort was sincere—one might even call it persistent—marked by slightly furrowed brows and deep concentration radiating from her gaze.
Yet the result remained pitiful.
The knot that formed resembled an amorphous lump, asymmetrical and loose, far removed from the neat standard of an academy uniform.
The fabric hung from her neck like an embarrassing wound, a visual confession of her inability to master even the simplest of human rituals.
Theo observed the struggle from a safe distance, and for a brief moment, a thin, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of his lips.
It was not mockery, but a spontaneous reaction to the striking contrast.
The mighty entity reflected in eight thousand words of data was now defeated by a single tie.
That small warmth faded quickly, dissolved by the awareness of the complexity and burden behind the moment.
Without saying a word, he moved closer.
His steps were calm yet deliberate, cutting through the space between them that had been filled with silent failure.
With a gentle but firm motion, he took over the disheveled ends of the tie from Aldraya's slightly tense grasp.
Their fingers brushed for an instant, a warm point of contact in the cool morning air.
Theo then began to work, his movements slow and deliberate, turning them into a clear demonstration.
He did not immediately put the tie on for her.
Instead, he started from the beginning, drawing Aldraya's full attention to every stage.
With practiced hands, he folded, crossed, and pulled the fabric, ensuring every movement was visible and every tug had purpose.
His eyes occasionally flicked toward Aldraya, making sure her enigmatic gaze followed the flow of his fingers, absorbing every mechanical detail of a process that was ordinary to him but philosophically profound to her.
Ctaak!
"Focus, Aldraya. Focus on the knot, not on this unsightly face of mine. Watch again how I form this knot."
Uuuuhhh!
"Like this—pay attention to my hands."
That morning crystallized into a quiet ritual within the dimly lit corridor.
Theo, forcing patience from the depths of his weary soul, guided each movement with meticulous care.
The fingers of his left hand, agile in forming folds and knots, would sometimes lift slightly.
Not to touch, but to flick gently—his fingertips tapping Aldraya's smooth forehead in small, repetitive beats.
Each flick was a code, a subtle physical interruption to a drifting focus.
He was acutely aware that her gaze, which should have been fixed on the dance of his fingers around the silk, often wandered upward and anchored itself elsewhere.
On the rigid line of his jaw, the shadows beneath his eyes, or parts of his face he considered flawed and unpleasant to look at.
Theo understood that silent language.
He was no stranger to waves of pity or revulsion hidden behind the looks of others.
Here, in this narrow corridor, before this paradoxical entity, he thought he recognized the same kind of observation.
Each flick to Aldraya's forehead became a defensive bastion, an attempt to redirect her focus back to the practical matter—the mechanics of the tie he was teaching.
He wanted to convey, without awkward words, that there was no value in mapping the shortcomings of his face.
What mattered was the sequence of movements, how to cross the fabric, how to pull the wide end so the knot became tight and perfect.
'Once again, she's staring at my face. Even after all those flicks.'
"All right, now try it yourself. Put on your tie, Aldraya."
'It's only a matter of time before—'
"It's done."
'What? How did she manage to put it on perfectly just like that? It was a mess moments ago.'
"Are you serious?"
"Yes."
"S-surprising. How could you remember the steps, when all this time your eyes were on me instead of the knot?"
"This is one of the advantages of my senses."
'A barbaric way of being modest.'
Yet despite being flicked repeatedly as a gentle reminder, the pattern persisted like a stubborn rhythm.
Aldraya's gaze, which had obediently returned moments ago to the dance of Theo's fingers forming folds and pulls, slowly drifted upward once more.
As if drawn by the gravity of a greater mystery, her eyes anchored again on Theo's face.
She looked at him calmly, with the intensity of a researcher observing a rare specimen, or perhaps like a reader trying to decipher an ancient manuscript filled with scribbles and revisions.
Every detail—from the crease of concentration on Theo's brow to the slight pursing of his lips while focusing—seemed to be recorded and stored within an unseen internal archive.
The silence between them became dense, filled with intersecting body language.
Theo's hands busy teaching, and Aldraya's eyes, though corrected, returning to their unshakable visual study.
The teaching process repeated dozens of times, punctuated by flicks that outwardly resembled discipline, yet inwardly began to feel like a weakening defense.
Eventually, a point of saturation was reached within Theo.
A vague sense of irritation—born of fatigue, self-doubt repeatedly prodded by her gaze, and uncertainty about the effectiveness of his efforts—rose to the surface.
With a slow exhale, he removed the tie he had just knotted for the umpteenth time from Aldraya's neck.
This time, he did not repeat the demonstration.
Instead, with a gesture full of meaning, he placed the strip of silk back into Aldraya's hands.
It was a silent request, a quiet test, and a sign of surrender all at once.
He asked Aldraya to practice it herself, to prove whether these fragmented lessons had any value at all.
And then, something unexpected happened.
To be continued…