𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙 ...
Y/N Zayas was a content but timid child, living in a small village in Panama until discovering that she was cursed to be followed by fire and flood. Her Abuela, with the best intentions, hears of a magica...
short a/n || the hate has mostly stopped, tysm to everyone who supported me thru that idek what ppls problems was.
also TW this is an angery chapter >:)
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The following day, after chores were completed, Camilo and I found ourselves in each other's company yet again. With these confessions out of the way, it was much easier to spend time together. I didn't feel this same tugging in my heart, begging to see him but waiting for his request.
He didn't have the upper hand anymore, it seemed. We were on the same footing, both quick to ask for the other's companionship. It seemed as though my suspicions that he had the same pit of longing might be correct, though there was no indication of how deep it went. I could never know if he felt exactly the same, but I would settle for this similarity because it met my needs and his.
This afternoon we found ourselves sitting on the guest room bed, discussing the day and things that weren't so important. How one of the ladies who I'd been doing laundry for had accidentally left un galleta in the pocket of her apron, and I still ate it. How he'd shifted into the priest and scared him so badly he dropped his breakfast. His gift was the one that people just couldn't seem to get entirely used to.
"Have you gone through the things your Mami brought?" Camilo asked, stepping over to the basket that still sit at the foot of the guest room's bed.
"Yes, but I'm still working on it. Things have been busy," I tried to explain.
"Your threads and needles are in here." He told me, beginning to poke around through the contents. I felt comfortable enough to let him dig as he pleased; he couldn't find anything embarrassing in there.
I sighed, still laying on the bed. "That's good news, but I've got nothing to use them on."
"Oh. You know, if you ever really want to get some fabric here, there's this lady in town—Señora Francesca—that spins cotton into these bolts of fabric. I'm sure you two could have some sort of a trade. Gift for fabric, you know?"
"What could I do to help her?" I asked.
"You've already been doing her laundry. Do you really never stop to talk to them?"
I shook my head.
"Well, maybe you should. It can be pretty helpful sometimes. You should talk to my Mama about it, later. They're friendly." He smiled, still rummaging through my things. "This skirt is cute," Camilo remarked while holding up a light pink skirt with multicolored trim. "Why don't you wear it?"
"It's a little...flashy, don't you think?" I said, looking at it. It looked like doll clothing next to his stance.
"It'd look good on you." He insisted, folding it on the edge of the basket carefully before turning back to continue searching in the basket. That skirt was a gift from an older cousin a few years ago, who insisted I'd grow into it. She said it was perfect for a little girl, she was too mature for something so playful now that she'd been married. I felt it was a bit too much for someone meek as myself. But funnily enough, now I had a novio asking me to wear it.
