The afternoon sun spilled over the market, gilding rooftops and catching on the colorful fabrics swaying above each stall. Laughter mingled with the clink of coins, the shuffle of feet, and the low hum of a vendor's song.
The air brimmed with the scent of fried dough, sweetened fruit, and warm spice—an orchestra of senses that made the world feel full and alive.
Billy sat back on the wooden bench, his knee brushing Artur's. His fingers curled around a cool clay cup, condensation trailing to his knuckles. From their shaded spot beneath a faded red awning, they had a slice-of-life view—children darting between baskets, elders arguing over weights, young couples pointing at flower stalls like they were sketching out dreams.
"Feels like we stumbled into someone else's summer," Billy murmured, gaze wandering. "The kind of day you remember for no reason."
Artur turned, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "Or maybe we finally slowed down long enough to notice it."
