{SEASONAL EVENT} Arc Toward the Sun

AMALIA His body fills the small bakery, invading like a shadow, a breath of warm and humid air. She wonders if he will break something; part of her wants to dart forward, to catch him before he has the chance to disrupt her carefully crafted space. But her space is already altered; it shifted as soon as he walked in the door, transitioning from the quiet of one to the duet of two, and there is nothing to do but adapt along with it. Worrying her lip between her teeth, the baker waits for him to turn, to free that face from shadow and hopefully douse it with familiarity's light. "Yes," she answers his statement simply, watching his face as his eyes dart around as though looking for secrets in the dust. The lines of it are a dream recalled, as faded as the walls of her shop. As soon as he speaks she remembers his name- I know, she manages not to say, but nods instead. "Amalia." The basket of eggs cuts the tension like a knife through cloth: grateful for the distraction of productivity, Amalia exhales a frown and dons a smile. "Thank you." Her slight body moves with quiet purpose, a stark contrast to the bulk of him, as she rounds to counter to retrieve the basket, her slender fingers wrapping around the handle as though to steal his defenses, strip him bare. She lets them rest there, for a moment. "I think so, too. Before my nani... when the shop was still open. I would have been much younger, then." The laugh she produces is strained and apologetic, a tightness in her throat that she struggles to swallow. It is hard to be merry in the face of heartache, and her heart has not stopped hurting for some years. Still, the girl tries. I tend to avoid getting emotional I'm not shutting you out It's just the way I'm born But I see myself next to you until we're old