tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn

Flora

Haulani’s market hums under awnings bright as cut fruit, heat lifting off the stones, salt threaded through the air. The parchment between them has gentled the edges—especially with the fact that it's Kaisel's voice and stupid laugh she's treated to rather than just the written word—and it’s far too easy for Flora to feel the old rhythm wanting to take her, the familiar tilt toward him that used to happen without thinking. The hurt sits just beneath the skin, though, close enough to spill over if she isn't careful. She misses him; of course she does. He’s still one of her best friends, but missing isn’t permission, and missing doesn't change the past.

Even so, instead of waiting where she said—by the stall with the green-glass chimes—she ghosts the market in daylight, literally; a white sheet tossed over her head like mischief in mourning. Two impatient eyeholes turn the world soft at the edges. Children point; a vendor hides a smile; Spice perches in the shade of a crooked sign, pale and pleased, her mind a cool prickle of encouragement.

When Kaisel arrives, warmth rises on reflex; she lets it lap against her ankles while making sure to keep her footing. She falls in behind him at a careful distance, the sheet whispering at her ankles, the market flowing bright around them, just waiting for her moment to strike.

I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in

Code stolen from Queen Sky