As I'm making my way back to my room after talking with Edgar, I hear a small sound come from one of the rooms nearby.

When I glance at the source, I find it to be the room where Tiara and Aris sleep. From the small gap between the door, I see Tiara walking inside from left to right. I was about to dismiss it when I notice her walk back from right to left. I wait for a few seconds more, and realize she is pacing back and forth in the room.

Maybe I should go ask if there's something bothering her. So I approach the door to knock, but when I get closer, I hear murmurs.

I realize that she is murmuring to herself while walking around the room. In the dim glow of the lampshade beside her bed, I notice her face illuminated in a smile, as she laughs occasionally and grins the other times. She moves her hands  like how we do when talking with someone, as if engaged in a conversation with someone invisible. She shakes her head, shrugs her shoulders, scrunches her nose, does everything. A movie is playing inside her head, probably one she created herself.

Rather than surprise, I feel something along the lines of sadness. Is this how normal daydreaming is supposed to be?

"I think she might have the Maladaptive Daydreaming disorder."

I turn around to find July standing a few steps away, eyes inside the room.

"That's a thing?" I ask in a low whisper.

He nods. "It's not officially recognized as a psychiatric disease, but it's a thing. There have been serious patients all over the world. No one knows why it happens or how. There's no cure for it or anything. Maybe it can be brought under control with some mind training." 

"Wow." I look back at her, still walking . But this time, the smile has disappeared from her face, replaced by a scowl. "I thought she might have ADD. But it really is worse than a mere attention deficit."

"Mhm." He comes and stands beside me, still a few steps away. Even in this darkness, with the only light being from the lamp outside in the veranda, July takes no risks when it comes to closing the physical distance between us. "It will trouble her so much as she grows up. It might get worse too. She will get stuck at every corner."

"So should she seek treatment as soon as possible?"

"As I said, there's no treatment. And a lot of psychiatrists can't even diagnose it. But yeah, taking her to one regardless might be a good idea. But it doesn't seem like her parents are really aware of this."

"Hmm . . ." First vitiligo, and now this. Both things are totally out of her control, and both things don't have any treatment. It's like the world keeps handing me more reasons to be sad today, both for myself and those around me. I think I'm only an inch away from getting crushed under all this weight.

"Go to sleep, Cedar. It's getting late," July says.

I nod. "But where are you going?"

"Ah." He hesitates a bit before saying, "Since everyone is asleep, I'm gonna go take a . . .bath." He points towards the bathroom, which is right beside the kitchen. The room I'm staying in— sister Flora's room—doesn't have an attached bathroom, so this is the one I have to use.

I nod again. "Want me to stay inside in case someone walks in?"

He shakes his head. "No need. All the other rooms have an attached bathroom." With that, he begins to walk over to the bathroom door. On the way, I see him slightly sway, as if his legs feel unstable. My hands raise instinctively, but he's already steadied himself. This is yet another reminder that July doesn't need me, or anyone else, to walk straight. He silently opens the door, and slips inside.

"Cedar?"

My heart jumps once at how close the sound comes from. I turn around and see it's just Tiara, standing on the door of her room.

"What are you doing here? Can't sleep?" she asks.

"Ah, no. I was talking on the phone. I'm going to sleep now. What about you? Can't sleep?"

She shrugs. "Too many thoughts and stories. In my head, that is. So many stories. But it's okay, I like those stories."

I give her a weak smile. "Do you?"

She nods. "They help me escape from the real world, you know?"

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4th August; Tuesday

For breakfast, Aunt Sayra makes me pancakes.

I'm used to sleeping for only 4-5 hours, so I woke up at the odd hour of a quarter to 5 in the morning. Once again, I found grandpa listening to music in the living room. I joined him today as well, but July didn't, saying that he's tired. Together, grandpa and I silently listened to Ólafur Arnalds' Living Room Songs, which is a classical instrumental album released in 2011. Every song of the album carried a melancholy born from somewhere deep within, making the small living room feel like the loneliest place in the whole universe. My favourite song of the album was the 3rd one, named Film Credits.

After Aunt Sayra woke up, she asked me what my favorite food is. That's one time more than my own mother ever did. After I told her, she really did make me delicious pancakes, better than the ones I had in the restaurant four days ago.

Ever since I first ate them in Dawn's room, pancakes have always been my favourite food. Just like the Rat, a character from Murakami's tetralogy with the same name.  In my opinion, at least, Rat is Murakami's best character. His real name has never been mentioned, and he himself doesn't remember how he came to get the nickname "Rat". The way Rat ate pancakes was a bit different than most. After stacking several pancakes on top of the other, he would cut them neatly into four pieces, then put a whole bottle of Coke over it. He said that the meal's best feature is the perfect blend of solid food and drink.

Unlike him, I'm not too fond of the idea of putting Coke on my pancakes. But then again, of course I'm not. I belong to the ordinary crowd, the ones who put a piece of butter on the center of the topmost cake, then pour a little honey over it, letting the liquid roll down the edges. If I preferred Coke instead of butter&honey, perhaps I would be able to become the best character of some writer as well.

As I'm thinking of all these, I glance at the wall-clock. It's only 7 in the morning, so there's still 3 hours left until I can call Edgar.

"How's your leg today, Cedar?" asks uncle Ray while stirring his glass of honey milk with a silver spoon.

I nod and say, "It's much better. I think I can work today."

"Ain't that wonderful!" He laughs, and I can't help but smile. "So why don' ya go work on the remainin' hives along with my princess Tiara? I have some important work to do back in my shop, so I might not be able to join today."

"By ourselves? What if we make some mistakes?"

"Ah, don' worry, don' worry! My daughter knows everythin'. She's just too spaced out and lazy to join me at work."

"Oh, okay then." I glance at Tiara, who is silently munching on her buttered bread on the chair beside mine. She doesn't look too interested. Maybe she's not even listening.

But then she says, "Dad, I told you he's gay. Stop trying to get us together."

"What!" Uncle Ray shakes his head with utter dismay. "What made you think that, princess? I just want ya two to become good friends! Nothin' more than that, nothin' more than that."

She lets out an irritated sigh. "But have you ever considered if he wants to be my friend?"

"Of course I do," I say. I thought that was obvious. But then on a second thought, I suppose I haven't really talked to her that much the past two days I've been here. There's just been too much going on. Today, the only reason I'm feeling slightly better is because I'm doing everything in my power to keep my mind off July and the pending apology. It's not too hard when all July does these days is quietly sit at the corner of the bed. But I think it's something I need to do to fully clear my mind and then do a lot of thinking.

Which is just another way to say that I'm postponing my responsibilities.

"Yeah right. Why would you want to be my friend? I'm like the most boring person ever. There's nothing interesting about me."

"There's nothing interesting about me either. Literally all I've done my whole life is study. Does that sound interesting?"

"Ya kids talk in such a way . . ." Uncle Ray observes with his brows drawn together. "There ain't even an ounce of self-love or self-confidence!"

Tiara smiles. "Welcome to Generation Z, dad."

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"So it all goes in this machine?" I ask as I watch Tiara stuff the honey frames inside. "We won't have to do it manually?"

"Uh-huh. The honey's gonna spill out of that mouth over there. It's called the Honey Gate." She points, and I see a small cylindrical pipe protruding out of the machine's body.

In front of me sits a small yet complex-looking machine called the Honey Extractor. It's basically a steel bucket with a space inside where 6 frames can be fixed in a starlike pattern. There is a handle attached to the center which has to be spun for the honey to come out while the frames rotate using centrifugal force. Before putting in the frames, we had to use a knife to separate the wax sticking to them.

I have no idea what happens inside the machine, and Tiara couldn't explain either. Maybe Dale would know, because he is a mechanical engineer.

Hmm, mechanical engineer. The two words sure have a nice ring to them. You can immediately tell the title belongs to someone who is probably important to the society. And yet, I find myself wondering if this is what Dale truly wanted to be.

"Alright," Tiara says in a tone identical to her father's, "it's time to rotate the handle."

"How many times do we have to spin it?"

She shrugs. "As long as it takes for all the honey to come out."

"Oh. Then let's take turns? I do 20, you do 20. Like that."

"Sure. I'll prolly zone out and lose count, though."

"Maybe you can . . . practice your focus, then." Wait, did that sound harsh somehow?

"Good idea," she says. "Then I'll go first."

So we take turns spinning the handle of the extractor. Tiara spins it quite aggressively, gritting her teeth while doing so. After spinning 20 times, she leaves the handle and it spins by itself for a while. Then I take over and do the same, but a little less aggressively. I simply don't have that much energy.

We repeat the process several times, and my arms begin to throb painfully after a while. Luckily, that's when Tiara says that we've spun enough, and it's time open up the Honey Gate.

She places a bucket below the gate and puts a sieve on top to separate the remaining bit of solid wax that probably got mixed up with the honey. When she opens the gate, I see the glimmering gold liquid spill out and feel a childish excitement surge within me. I watch with great curiosity, and can't help but wonder when was the last time I felt so genuinely interested in something. I find myself wishing again that July was here.

Tiara takes out the frames, which now look plain yellow in colour without the honey and the wax. Then we both take the machine and put it upside down to pour over the little honey that got stuck on the bottom of the container. And then we're done.

"Wanna taste?" Tiara asks as she removes the sieve, which is filled with bits of white wax by now, and puts it aside.

"Right now?" I look at the bucket, filled up to more than half.

"Mhm, freshly collected honey. You won't get that anywhere else."

"Oh, okay. A spoon . . .?"

"Why spoon? You have hands. Just use your finger. Like this." She dips her index finger into the bucket and then puts it in her mouth, letting out a satisfied 'yum' afterwards.

So I wipe my hand on my shirt and do the same. The sweet honey touches my tongue, and I immediately lose myself in bliss. It's soft, but it has a strong taste and of course, it's absolutely delicious.

"Yum?" she asks.

"Yum," I reply.

"This is the honey we've collected."

This is the honey we've collected. The sentence makes me awfully happy.

-------------------------

After we have extracted all the honey, it's time to put them in jars. Uncle Ray has already lined up about 25 jars of different sizes at one corner of the Beekeeping Workshop. Some are small, some medium, others big. The prices will vary according to the sizes.

I notice five big jars kept aside from the rest. Pointing at them, I ask Tiara, "Why are those kept separately? For an order?"

She looks up from the jar she was opening the cap of. "Ah, no. Those are for friends. For families. For, I mean- for some families who are our friends.  In the neighborhood. Every year, after the harvest, we give them a jar as gifts. There are some families like that. We're close with them. So it's like a gift."

I hold back a displeased sigh. She could have simply said, "We're gonna give them as gifts to some neighborhood families we're close with". But I know she can't control it. So I only say, "Oh, I see." Creative response, I know.

"Gonna go tomorrow. To deliver those. Sis and I used to do that before. Like, before she left for uni, you know? I'm talking about my sister Flora by the way. Like we used to deliver together. To all the five houses. Last year, I guess mom and dad did it. This year, I'll prolly do it. Alone, that is. By myself."

"Oh, I can help you. It will be hard to carry five big jars by yourself."

"Why? 'Cause I'm a girl?"

"Huh? No, because you have two hands."

She smiles. "You sure? Like, the houses are far. It's a hassle. You have to walk 'cause the houses are like, spread around. Like all over the place. In different places. So we have to walk a lot. It's really a hassle 'cause it's all spread over."

"It's okay. I just . . . there's a lot on my mind, so I think I need some distractions to clear my head." Really mature of me, I know.

She nods. "Uh-huh, I get it." As soon as she says that, she zones out. Her hand keeps rotating the cap of the jar long after it's come loose. I let her be and continue with my own ones.

Tiara first lays down some old newspaper pages on the ground to make sure the honey doesn't spill and call a potential gang of ants. Then we take the bucket and slowly start filling the jars one after the other. We start with the big ones, then move to the smaller ones. At first I thought that we wouldn't need all the jars to store the honey, but all 25 of them perfectly fill up, and Tiara even has to go and grab 3 more to keep the rest. That's a lot of honey, and a lot of money. Wow, that rhymed. I grin to myself. Even if Tiara notices it, she doesn't say anything.

Next, it's time to package the gifts nicely. First, we will cover the jar cap with a small and cute piece of cloth and then nicely tie a ribbon around it. If someone gave that to me as a gift, I think I would be very pleased. It's simple, pretty, and sincere.

Both of us sit down on the newspapers and begin to work cooperatively. Whenever her actions become slightly absent because of her attention breaking away, I help her snap out and get back to work. We make a good team. Though we're not talking much, I already like her.

While she is struggling with one of the jars and refused my help, I take a look at all the other ones again. A sense of satisfaction rises in me, and I can't help but smile. Every transparent jar is filled with beautiful golden liquid, the fruit of the hard labour of bees and beekeepers combined. People will buy this honey and drink it with their milk, pour it over their pancakes, mix it with warm water when they catch a cold. So many pretty smiles will come out of the honey I have helped in collecting. This is the joy of honey.

My eyes then move to a random part of the floor covered with newspapers. I don't pay any attention to the writing at first, but one of the headlines written in bolds grabs my attention. As soon as I read it, my heart rises up to my throat.

19-YEAR-OLD BOY FROM HEILBUR COMMITS SUICIDE; LEAVES A VIRAL LETTER ADDRESSED TO HIS ABUSIVE PARENTS

Below the headline are two photographs of both sides of a page, filled with writing.

Below the photos is the typed version of Rain Castleton's letter itself.

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hello!!

did y'all see that coming??? i told you that cedar will find out the letter very abruptly, at a moment he least expected. and now he has 😌 it's crazy how one thing leads to another, eh? anyways imma make y'all suffer a while longer before revealing the letter.

i'm not sure if i have the Maladaptive Daydreaming disorder, but i sure do have a lot of symptoms of it. either way, it's not really a psychiatric condition that i often see being represented in books. i will try to delve more into it in later chapters, sharing my own experiences along the way.

in all honesty, if i could tear off the veil between reality and fiction, i would immediately go and tell cedar, "you are my best character". because it's true. maybe not to others, but at least to me, there will never be another character who is as close to my heart as cedar. it might partly be because he is to a great extent a reflection of myself, but i think it's mostly because he has managed to overcome and accomplish many things that i probably won't ever be able to.

also i totally did not struggle to find a name for this chapter then added a new sentence to settle for a weird one.

anyways, thanks a lot for reading! we are getting closer and closer to the grand ✨apology✨, so you have much to anticipate. take care of yourselves, try out new things, and seek out new experiences ❤️

— love, Poma