Heartbeats [ON HOLD]

two | compromise

Do I have to return these fruits? Please, no. They're so fresh.

"I didn't..." Medha trails off, because really, now that she thinks about it, trees don't grow themselves. "I've never been to this side of Farmond, I really thought this was an abandoned clearing, but evidently, it isn't." Flatter her so that you don't have to return the fruits. Obviously, that will work. "I am so sorry, I wasn't— you have a lovely garden! You maintain it so well and—"

"Because it's my produce!" the girl huffs, eyes trailing down to Medha's bag. And then, she gasps. "My blueberries!"

"They looked so good!"

Again, the girl huffs, but the hardness behind her eyes melts away like butter, gets replaced by a small twinkle.

And Medha didn't think it was possible, but the girl seems to get even prettier.

She's found people pretty before, of course she has. In fact, she finds everything pretty— trees with pendulous branches that almost brush against her hair when she walks, climbers of vibrant blue morning glory flowers that coil around hedges, squirrels that nestle themselves in cavity dens of trees, dried grass that cracks under her feet, fresh grass that her feet sink into, everything.

But she's never found anyone or anything pretty to an extent where she can't take her eyes off of them.

Inhaling deeply, the girl peers further into the bag, gaze flitting around from fruit to fruit. "I know they look good," she mutters, voice quiet. "Of course they do, I grow all my fruits on my own, here, in my backyard. I sell them at the market."

The market? There are four markets.

"The main market of Farmond," the girl corrects, it's evident that Medha said the words out loud. "Noor Qadri, that's me." You have the most beautiful name I've ever heard. "I sell my produce almost every week. On Mondays. How have you never seen me?"

Out of the entire tangent of words that flow so easily out of Noor's mouth, Medha only follows half, if not less, her mind anchored only to her voice and nothing else.

But she grasps enough.

"Well, have you seen me?" Medha retorts, she doesn't know why, but there's something about the girl— Noor, her mind reminds her— that brings out a side of her that she hasn't ever known. A bite-back, claws-conjured side.

Somehow, she doesn't hate it.

"Huh?" she repeats in a joking taunt, because for a reason she doesn't quite understand completely, now that she knows the girl's name, she isn't so intimidated anymore. More enthralled than anything. "Do you know who I am? Have you seen me around?" she persists, already prepared for the plain no from Noor.

But Noor continues to surprise her. Though the fact that she does isn't much of a surprise anymore.

"Medha Ranjan," she informs with a nonchalance, as though it's just that obvious. "Did I pronounce that right?"

Surprisingly enough, yes. More than right. "Mhm," Medha gets out, it's the only thing she can get out without being in complete awe of the fact that this girl, who's definitely Aphrodite-reincarnated, knows who she is. "You got it."

A satisfied smile blooms on Noor's face, perfectly smooth lips curving upwards, but all Medha can stare at is the barely visible crater in her left cheek, similiar to the dimple in her own cheek. "You're the one who sells baked goods, yes? And drops them off at everyone's doorstep?"

Is that what she's known for? Selling bread to the people in Farmond?

It's not the worst thing to be known for in this town; there isn't much else to do in a place like Farmond, where the rain falls exactly when the plants need it, so the crops don't require watering and where the people live on the resources they're dealt— nothing more, nothing less.