The tea is mildly sweet, like the honey from processed factories, and it carries a smell of lilies and dandelions mixed with freshly baked bread and cheese butter, the kind I used to bake not so many days ago. I keep sipping as the sun rises, its warmly fresh light painting my face along with the rest of the world.

  By the time my cup is nearly empty, the elder appears from that narrow path that supposedly leads to the bathroom. A towel is wrapped around his waist, and in his hands are damp clothes, which he hangs one by one on the ropes stretched across the courtyard. So that’s what the ropes were for. I hadn’t even noticed them before. It was such a small detail that it slipped past me.

  “You liked the tea? I make it every morning,” the elder asks. His face is straight as ever, but there’s a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

  “I think I’ll have to taste more of it every morning,” the words slipped out softly, without hesitation. I didn’t think. I just said it. This tea has genuinely warmed me up in this life where I could’ve probably ended up an awkward nobody.

  The elder looked like he liked my answer. He clicked his tongue and gave a small smirk. “You’ll have to get up early like this every day for that. More brats will come to sip the heck out of the flask soon.”

  He walked back into his house looking cheerful. Did what I say make him that way? Maybe I really can become his student without being awkward.

  I finished the last sip, stood up from the chair, and stretched my arms high into the air, letting my body relax. “It’s nice here,” I told myself. Cozy, even, in this unknown place.

  The cup was empty, so I carried it back inside and left it where it belonged. I wasn’t sure where I needed to wash it, so… best not to touch the others for now.

  “Oi, brat Taseen!” the elder shouted from outside.

  I quickly stepped down the stairs and hurried out. “What?” I asked, a little worried.

  “Take this and come with me.”

  He tossed me a towel, a fresh one that smelled hypnotically like new clothes and started walking toward the path leading to the bathroom.

  I followed, careful on the damp ground. Turning left at the corner, I froze. “What?! This is an open bathroom?”

  “This is where you’ll take showers and go to the toilet,” he said, pointing to the small building on the right. “There are four toilets, so you’ll have your fair chance to poop.”

  The building looked like toilet stalls from a school or a roadside restaurant, all lined up side by side, divided by walls. But this was sturdier. The roof was tin, and the walls were concrete.

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  “That,” he continued, pointing to the front-left corner, “is a tubewell.”

  Tubewell? What’s that supposed to mean?

  I was about to ask, but he answered before I could. “You’ve probably never seen one before.” He gave me a look that was half playful, half pity. “You pull the handle up, then push it down. That makes the water flow from that big hole on the side.”

  Oh… so it’s basically a manual water well?

  “So… do I bathe in this open place?” I asked, my voice carrying more confusion than I intended.

  “Yes,” the elder replied matter-of-factly, like he was explaining that the sun rises in the east. “You take that bucket beside the tubewell, fill it up, then bathe with it.”

  “But.. but…” I stuttered, completely flabbergasted at the thought. Bathing outside? In the open air? What if someone just walked in and caught me standing there naked? There wasn’t even a curtain let alone a door!

  “Don’t worry,” the elder said, his lips curling into a smug little grin. “Everyone asks before walking in. Nobody’s going to see your muscleless skin.”

  His tone carried the smugness of someone who just won a competition.

  He walked over to the first bathroom stall beside the tubewell, opened it, and pulled out a bar of soap and a small detergent packet. Holding them casually, he turned back toward me.

  “This is where the soap and powder are kept,” he said, handing me the soap before slipping the detergent back inside. Then, with a grin that was either mischievous or downright sinister, he added, “Have fun,” and strolled off.

  I couldn’t tell if he was just a teasing old man messing with me or some kind of sinister freak who enjoyed tormenting teenagers. Either way, I was stuck with this setup.

  I walked up to the tubewell and... How did he say it worked again? Oh, right! Pull then push.

  I grabbed the handle and pulled. Surprisingly easy. Almost too easy. Then I pushed down and oh boy! That was another story. The force needed nearly yanked me up with it; I felt like I could float if I held on any tighter.

  The tubewell groaned with the sound of rustling metal, the inner rod clanking as it connected and disconnected with every push. Not irritating, not soothing either but just… mechanical. And then, with a rush, water gushed out in a strong stream. That sound alone made the push and pull worth it.

  The water stopped pouring, and for a second, I felt oddly… sad. That rushing sound was like stress itself collapsing and washing away.

  I slid the bucket under the tubewell’s spout and went back to pumping. Push after push, water came in steady gushes until it swirled and rose, lifting the mug that hung inside. It bobbed on the surface, then tipped clumsily, spilling as the bucket neared full.

  After about a minute and a half, the bucket brimmed with water. I gripped the handle, lugged it out of the tubewell’s zone, and set it down on the flat floor.

  Shirt, pants, underwear are off. I forgot I was wearing my sleeping gear all this time. I tucked them into the first stall, which turned out not to be a toilet at all but a kind of storage room stuffed with bathroom supplies. The floor had relatively empty space, so my clothes will stay there for the moment.

  "Wait, my phone! It's in my pants!", I spoke out realizing the danger. I hurriedly take my phone out and put it separately from the clothes. A sigh of relief exits my mouth.

  Walking up to the bucket, I took the mug in hand, dipped it into the bucket and poured the first splash over my head.

  But not the sharp, skin-stinging cold of city water systems. This was different. A refreshing, almost welcoming cold that wrapped my body instead of stabbing it.

  The water carried a scent too. Earthy, fresh, like the breath of soil itself. Muds would be jealous of how clean this felt.

  Refreshed, I found myself walking over to the tubewell. I took a sip straight from the fresh flowing of water rushing down from the push. It's smooth. It's crisp. It's so soothing it felt like the heaviness inside my chest dissolved with each swallow.

  I felt at ease.