Sweet days and sideways Looks

The days after the storm rolled by like honey — slow, golden, and sticky with sunlight.

Zara stopped thinking about the vial.

She tucked it deep in the glove box of the van, under old receipts and napkins, and promised herself she wouldn’t touch it again. There were bills to pay, fruit to cut, songs to sing — no time for strange thoughts.

Besides, life had gotten… comfortable again.

The market was busier than ever. Tourists came with cameras, locals came with stories, and Tru Vybz became more than just a juice van — it became the hangout spot.

Zara and Mila had a rhythm.

Mila did the shouting and joking; Zara did the quiet work that kept everything running. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was theirs.

One sunny afternoon, as Zara wiped down the counter, a familiar voice called,

“Still making the best mango punch in town?”

She turned — and froze for a moment.

It was Noah.

Tall, with soft brown eyes and a smile that could melt even the grumpiest market vendor. He’d gone off to university last year, talking about “bigger dreams” and “new places.” Zara hadn’t seen him since.

“Noah,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He leaned against the counter. “Came home for a few weeks. Couldn’t resist your mango punch.”

Mila, who had been rearranging cups, smirked. “Oh, you mean Zara’s mango punch or Zara herself?”

Zara shot her a look. “Mila.”

Noah laughed. “Both, maybe.”

Zara’s cheeks warmed. “You want one to go or are you staying?”

“Staying,” he said. “If that’s okay.”

She nodded, pretending to focus on pouring juice — but her hands trembled just a little.

The three of them sat by the van, talking and laughing like no time had passed. Noah told stories about university — crazy roommates, long nights, endless ramen noodles. Mila teased him nonstop, and Zara found herself laughing more than she had in days.

As the sun began to dip, Noah offered to help pack up.

“You don’t have to,” Zara said, but he was already lifting crates.

“I know,” he said softly. “But I want to.”

Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, everything around them went quiet — the music, the chatter, even Mila’s jokes.

Then Mila coughed loudly. “Okay, Romeo, slow down with the heart-eyes. Help me with the bins instead.”

They all laughed, but Zara’s heart kept fluttering like a trapped bird.

⸻

That night, after closing up, Zara and Mila walked home together through the glowing streets.

“So,” Mila said, bumping Zara’s shoulder playfully, “you and Noah, huh?”

“What? No,” Zara said quickly, but the smile gave her away.

Mila grinned. “Girl, please. You had that look — like someone just told you the world’s sweetest secret.”

“Maybe I’m just happy,” Zara said softly.

“Good,” Mila replied, looping her arm through hers. “You deserve happy. You’ve been too serious lately.”

Zara smiled, looking up at the stars flickering above the city’s lights. For once, her mind was calm — no strange voices, no glowing bottles, just laughter, street music, and the soft feeling of maybe falling in love again.

As they turned down their street, she felt the night air wrap around her like a blanket. Everything felt… normal.

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