Katesara

00

(Katesara pronounced as 

Keh-et-ssaraaa / Keh-et-ssuraaa )

I remember that night well. The night before we met. It was three o'clock in the morning and I was still not asleep.

That night the rain that had stayed around the whole day was battering against my home's roof and I remember I lay in bed, wide awake just enjoying the song the rain played.

I had a feeling it was going to rain the next day as well. I was hoping it would. Especially because it made me happy whenever it rained. My days went well.

The winds were howling during the day, but that night they were silent. I thought that perhaps they didn't want to steal the rain's spotlight. It made sense, I don't think I'd ever heard the wind howl when it rained.

I also hoped that it would be misty the next day. I suppose that was good enough if it didn't rain. Some would have said that I was a bit obsessed with the weather — I couldn't deny it. I suppose that was the reason why I had wanted to become a meteorologist.

Ah! yes, I forgot to mention — the night before I met him, I was still in high school. I was fifteen then.

My family was small and my home, modest. My home housed three generations, my grandma, my mum, and I. My grandma and mum had raised me up ever since I was a child, we spent a lot of time together. Sometimes I was even thankful that it was just them and I, and not my father, who had never even been in the picture from the first place. By that I mean he had left my mother and remarried the local rich miller's daughter. Mum always did tell me that my father was good looking. I always prayed that I would never have a chance to make an assessment of my own.

Growing up, life was good, just my grandmother, mother, and I to be honest. Weekends consisted of learning how to sew with grandma or doing yoga with mum. We would all cook in the kitchen together and have our meals in the living room while watching some new Thai Larkon that had caught mum and grandma's attention.

By profession, my grandma and mother owned a small but modestly successful restaurant in the coastal town. It did well because the rich who had mansions lining along the sea came over for holidays and then there were also the country clubs. Since our town also had very good tourist traffic, the restaurant had found itself some loyal rich customers over the years. Gran and mum's restaurant was always full of them, and sometimes they were also asked to do catering. So that was that.

I was content with our humble and peaceful lifestyle. There wasn't too much drama and financially we were doing well above fine. I never did believe in trying to grasp more than my hands could hold. My Gran and Ma had always taught me to be content with eating only what I could chew. Still, we had always been blessed to have more than we could hope for.

When I first met him, It was during the spring of 2012. I could never recall the correct date. Perhaps it was on a Friday. Yes, perhaps it was a Friday. I had just returned from school, we'd received our midterm marks that day and just like always, I had received the second-highest in my class. On my way home, the vender ladies and uncles who usually called out my name with warm greetings or reminders for my mum or grandma sounded blatantly excited as I passed their stalls on my silver bicycle.

They kept shouting that I had to rush home quickly because we had visitors from the city over.

The men spoke about how big and shiny the car was. The women spoke about why I could have rich relatives who had been absent before this day. I on the other hand, in the ripe naivety of my age, wondered if mum and grandma were currently getting tired having to cook dinner for these people I had never seen before.