𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙊𝙁 𝘿𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂

𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐍 [ 𝐤𝐞𝐲𝐧 ]

Cain noticed little things about everyone he encountered. Hugo hardly ever blinked, whether it was on purpose or not, the man had a strangely intense stare almost all the time. Astrid had a habit of ending her sentences with a higher tone, so every sentence sounded like a question. Nero was always cracking his knuckles underneath the table, behind his back and in front of everyone mid-conversation.

And Layla?

Layla walked with purpose. She walked like she expected everyone around her to move around her, walked like she knew where she was going at all times. Each step was precise and measured, her footsteps soft but firm. She had a sort of unwavering confidence around her, the type of confidence that was earned after years of hardship, where one simple did not care about the perception others had towards her. She walked like this everywhere, he had never seen her do differently.

Cain walked next to her as they strolled along the harbour. It was a sunday afternoon, meaning that the bazaar had been set up along the path. As the sun began it's decent towards the horizon, lights began to slowly light up the area, blinking alive one by one. Stall owners and the town's people swarmed throughout the busy wharf, polluting the air with yells as they sought out customers. Various fragrances of spices and fried goods wafted through the air, floating lanterns and kites soared through the skies and children ran amok the crowd, cheering and shrieking happily.

"Cain, look!" Layla pointed at a stall excitedly, clutching at his arm. "They're selling Gulab Jamun!"

Her eyes had widened with childlike wonder, imploring him to follow her as she smiled and tugged at his shirt. He felt his heart swell with affection, pounding against his rib cage in an attempt to escape from his chest. He felt temporarily winded at the sudden sight of vulnerable happiness, unadulterated joy that lit up her face.

Cain looked at what she was pointing at curiously. She pulled him along, towing him to a small stall lit up by lights. A large Pakistani man stood inside, holding a young child in his arms. He gestured wildly at the people who clamoured around him, smiling charmingly as he negotiated prices with the vultures of Stovenhall. The streaks of grey within his hair and the loose jowls on his face hinted towards his older age.

Layla yelped as someone walked into her, almost sending her to the ground. Cain grabbed her arm, pulling her flush against his side. She dusted off her clothes furiously, smoothing down her glorious hair.

"Watch it, asshole." Cain snapped, shoving the man.

"Are you fucking blind?" Layla hissed, recovering in no time to head to the stall. "Oh look, Cain, don't they look amazing? God, I haven't had them in years. Someone up there is smiling down at me, mark my words."

"What are those?" Cain asked, tilting his head as he looked at the sweets.

They were about the size of large berries, brown in colouring and soaked in what looked like syrup. They smelled sweet like sugar, tantalisingly delicious in appearance and scent. Layla's face seemed to be lit up with joy as she grinned at the sweets.

"They're a Pakistani sweet, my mum made it for me all the time." She gushed. "Cain, you have to try one, they're delicious."

"I don't really like sweets." He murmured as he pulled out his wallet. "How much is it?"

The stall owner laughed heartily and passed a small ball to Layla.

"Free for you, beti!" He grinned. "No money, no charge for you! We stick together because we are family."

"Really?" Layla asked, eyes wide as she accepted the sweet. "Thank you, uncle."

Cain furrowed his brows, slightly confused at the way they referred to each other. They walked away from the stall before they were swallowed by the crowd.