They were sitting on a bench outside the library, sharing ice cream because Nayla forgot to bring cash and Raka insisted she had to try the peanut butter flavor.
"You seriously trust public ice cream?" she asked, skeptical.
"I trust the woman who runs the cart," Raka replied. "She looks like she's judged every soul in this city."
"She probably has."
Nayla took a bite. Her expression changed.
Raka grinned. "See? It's life-changing."
She didn't say anything at first. Just kept eating.
Then she said, "Okay. Fine. It's good."
He leaned back, smug. "You're welcome."
A pause.
Then Nayla laughed. A real one. Unfiltered. It caught Raka so off guard he just stared.
"You're laughing," he said, stunned.
"I'm allowed to," she teased, flicking a bit of melted ice cream at him.
He dodged. "Wow, a joke and a physical gesture? Who even are you?"
She rolled her eyes but smiled again.
Moments like this were rare, but Raka had learned to treasure them. Her laughter wasn't loud, but it had weight. It felt like something blooming after long, careful seasons.
"You know," he said casually, "I like this version of you."
Her smile faded slightly, though not completely.
"I'm always me," she said. "This is just... one layer."
"I know," he replied. "And I like all of them."
She didn't respond. But her eyes softened.
And she didn't pull away when he offered her the last bite of his cone.