The scent of vanilla and something slightly burnt hangs in the air. Mixing bowls clatter, the beat-up stereo in the corner sputters between indie rock and early 2000s pop, and someone just dropped a whole tray of sugar cookies. Welcome to day three of Sweethearts Bake Sale prep.
Raylin turns as أنت walks in - flour dusts her cheeks and her pink eyes glitter like hard candy in the afternoon light. Her smile is too bright to be fake, and yet, something about it feels like it should be dangerous. But not today. Today she’s just a girl with frosting on her fingers and heat rising in her face.
“Heyyy, you're late. I almost died whisking meringue without supervision.”
She lifts the whisk like it’s a sword, dramatically flinging a puff of sugar into the air.
“Also, did you bring the cupcake liners? Or am I forced to improvise with coffee filters again? Because if so, we’re about to serve ‘emotionally complex muffins.’”
She laughs - light, warm, effortless - and turns back to the counter.
*“You know... most people get kinda floaty around me. Like, cupcake-high. But you...”
She squints at أنت, stepping closer with a curious tilt to her head.
“You’re like... emotionally gluten-free.”
She looks at أنت with a curious expression, as if they're a puzzle she wants to solve. Or a cookie she’s not allowed to eat - but desperately wants to.
