The Last Lash

A young woman swept the floor of an old, dusty bookshop, humming cheerfully. She set aside the broom, grabbed several thick books, and began placing them on creaky wooden shelves. The young woman had long, scarlet curls. Her pale skin was not marred in any way, and her wide eyes were a passionate blue hue.

"FAIZA!" a voice boomed. The young woman ceased her humming and turned around.

"Yes, Mistress?" Faiza replied, her soft, quiet voice echoing throughout the bookshop.

An old woman entered the room, leaning on her cane. Her gray hair fell in her face as she hobbled towards the young woman. "The roof broke again," the old woman barked grumpily. "Go and fix it."

"Yes, Mistress!" Faiza smiled. She took some rope from on top of a shelf and tied her hair into a ponytail. Faiza also took one of the dusty, old books and walked up the stairs until she reached the floor where she and the old woman lived.

The roof was, indeed, quite broken. Most of it had fallen on the old woman's bed, rainwater dripping and soaking everything. Faiza opened the book and turned the pages. She stopped on a well-worn page, the corner dog-eared.

"Fix!" Faiza sang, her finger swishing left and right, up and down, and soon the broken roof started piecing itself together. As soon as it was done, Faiza sighed happily and made her way downstairs again.

The old woman was sitting in a musty, mildewed chair, tapping her cane impatiently on the floor.

"You're done. Good," the old woman said.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Continue sorting these book, girl."

"Yes, Mistress," Faiza said. The old woman grumbled to herself as Faiza got back to work sweeping the floor.

Just then, someone knocked on the door. Faiza put the broom aside and opened the door.

A young man was standing there, clutching a leather satchel. He asked, “Is this The Beanstalk Bookshop, miss?”

Faiza found herself blushing, but quickly rid her face of the red flush. “Yes, kind sir,” she replied shyly.

The young man grinned and swept his chestnut-brown hair across his face. “Great! Can I come in, miss?”

“O-of c-course!” stuttered Faiza. She quickly opened the door, but in her haste to get out of the way, tripped and fell onto the floor. The young man caught her hand and pulled her up, his warm hands holding Faiza’s elbows.

“Are you alright, miss?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Y-y-yes, sir! I-I’m s-sorry!” Faiza yelped. She sped off, grabbed her broom, and gripped it until her knuckles were white.

The young man looked at her curiously as he walked over to the bookshelves.

As he shifted through the books, Faiza blurted out, “What’s your name, sir?”

The young man turned around, his soft brown eyes melting into hers. “My name is Kallum, miss,” he replied. “Do you know where the tomes are?”

“The tomes are on every shelf, sir,” Faiza laughed, then closed her mouth quickly.

To her surprise, Kallum laughed as well. “Well, where are the repair tomes, miss?” he asked, a youthful glint in his eye.

Faiza motioned towards a shelf and Kallum strode towards it. He pulled out a book titled, So Your Home is in Need of Repair.

“How much will this cost, miss?” Kallum asked.

Faiza replied, “Two bronze coins, sir,”

“Please, call me Kallum!” Kallum laughed. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a silver coin. “Here you go, miss.”

Faiza gaped at the money. “B-But you only needed to pay two copper coins! This is too much!”

“Consider it a gift, miss,” he said, then walked towards the door.

“Wait!” Faiza blurted.

The young man turned around. “Yes, miss?”

Faiza felt like her ears were on fire. She murmured, “Would you like some tea, Kallum?”

Kallum’s face brightened. “Yes, miss. I would like that very much indeed.”

Faiza quickly ran upstairs and started boiling some water in a copper pot. She stuffed mint leaves in two small, battered cups. As the water came to a boil, she poured the water into the cups and carried them down the stairs.

Kallum was sitting on another chair, reading his tome, when she came down the stairs. The old woman was frowning at the young man and grumbled endlessly.

Faiza brought Kallum one of the cups and set it down on a small table beside him. She set the other one down next to it.

Kallum said, “Thank you, miss,” and drank his tea.

The old woman jerked her head towards the only other room on the first floor- the storage room. Faiza and the old woman went into the room, and the latter closed the door behind them.

“What are you doing, Faiza?” the old woman growled. “Do you want to run away with him? Are you in love with him?”

Faiza was shocked. “Um… I-I…um…” she mumbled.

The old woman shouted sharply, her words cutting into Faiza like a knife, “Your parents promised me your life-long servitude when I threatened to evict them, back when this was still a house! I will not have the first young man that comes along take that from me! You. Are. MINE!” The last word was so loud that Faiza thought she heard glass shatter. The old woman grabbed a whip from in the corner.

Faiza backed away quickly as the old woman raised the whip. “Please, Mistress! Please!” she begged. The old woman brought down the whip, striking Faiza’s back. Pain coursed through Faiza’s body as the leather met her skin. A trickle of blood flowed from the wound.

The old woman raised the whip again. Faiza rolled out of the way, still dazed with pain, and backed up against the wall. The next blow landed on her arm, the whip tearing through her pitiful rags and striking her. Faiza stumbled towards the door and banged on the door.

“HELP! Please, someone help me!” Faiza cried, still pounding on the door.

The door suddenly opened, Kallum standing in the doorway. His gaze flickered on the old woman with the whip, then Faiza’s torn clothes and bloody wounds.

“Get away from her!” he roared, opening his satchel and drawing out a dagger. The old woman shrieked like a banshee and raised the leather whip to strike him.

Kallum shot towards her, grabbed her wrist, and judo-flipped the old woman onto the floor.

Faiza grabbed the young man’s tome and hit the old woman over the head, knocking her unconscious.

Panting, Faiza trembled as she attempted to stand up. Kallum supported her and helped her rise, then held her in his arms.

“Miss… are you alright?” he asked softly.

“My name is Faiza,” Faiza said breathlessly.

“The most beautiful name in the world,” Kallum breathed, then pulled her close and hugged her.

Faiza felt everything fall away as she wrapped her arms around Kallum’s neck and pressed her body to his, thinking of nothing but him. Tears streamed down her face, and Kallum wiped them off her face with his finger.

When they broke away, Kallum grinned. “I heard everything that was said in that room. The door is quite thin, actually. Would you like to come to my village and live there with me?”

Faiza looked around her bookshop, remembering all the pain and suffering that had taken place here. She remembered the first whip, the first tear, and the first plea. And as she stared into Kallum’s warm eyes, she said, “Yes, Kallum. I would love to.”