Chapter forty-seven

"Harry, I –"

A beaming smile that fades slightly when he notices my struggle. He lets go, but I don't get up. He seems as if he's about to tell me something, but I feel energy rush back into my calves, so I leap up, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him up with me.

"Come on," I say. "Let's go to the market now. It's past two."

Slightly unwanting, Harry follows me back to the shore, his feet pattering against the boiling sand. With so much on my mind, I forget how hot sand can get during full-sun, and I start to frantically tip-toe up the beach, hot coal beneath my feet.

I throw Harry's bag onto my shoulder, my singlet-top sighing with the added weight atop it, and turn to the swaying palm trees to find the path.

"We should probably bring a towel next time," I say as casually as I can mutter.

A void of silence before Harry replies, "'Kay."

The building in front of us is two-storeys tall, beige bricks and moss growing all around it. But as soon as we step inside, or rather, into the roofless garden in the centre of the building, we find the comfort of being in the warm sun right here in this indoor marketplace.

"Wanna head up?" I ask.

"Sure."

Harry's always been kind to me. There has never been a time that he's been unwilling to help me, and primary school is a prime example of that. When I was nervous about delivering a speech, he'd give me words of encouragement. When I was bored in class, he'd somehow manage to communicate with me from across the classroom and make me silently crap my school dress from laughter. Now, even though his attitude has changed, he hasn't lost what made me smile. And my gut makes me feel more and more guilty for wanting to know his secrets every time he is kind towards me. How could I force him?

"I can hold the bag now, Tasmin," Harry offers, already reaching forward to slide the strap off of my shoulders, but I shrug it back on.

"I got it."

When Harry looked like he wanted to tell me something earlier, I knew it was something he had been reluctant to mention a day ago, or even an hour ago. I realise that our growing closer means he'll be inclined to tell me, and I can't bear being more guilty than I already am.

Despite deciding to come here a little later than most, the market is still packed, and we're constantly surrounded by people no matter where we move to. Harry insists that it is a good idea to hold hands so we don't lose each other.

"Are you sure that's necessary?" I ask, and watch as his face turns red. But he looks slightly devastated so I suggest, "Why don't you hold onto the strap of my backpack instead?"

He nods and winds his hand around the loose strap dangling from the bag, gripping it tightly. I give him a curt nod and continue forward, smiling.

Within the span of a half-hour we've bought more than twenty knick-knacks even though I know that I don't have that many friends to give them to. There are several items that I know my mum would love to own: beautiful seashells, large-beaded necklaces, delicately-hand-crafted grass dolls, colourful crochet hangings, but carrying so much home and spending so much money will definitely upset her more. My mum might be sentimental with what she hoards, but she also won't spend hundreds of dollars in one day.

As I'm running my hands through multiple crochets hanging on a rack, Harry leans his head on my shoulder and I freeze. I attempt to continue looking at the items (but not really looking because I'm distracted now.)

"I like this one," I finally say, pulling off of the rack a sheet with an explosion of warm colours on it. A bright sun in the middle with flames of scarlet and a pumpkin orange radiating off of it, and a gradient that fades into a multitude of different shades of blue. It's beautiful, and it will look perfect in the entrance hall next to our family photos.

"Get it, then," Harry starts to pull out some money, but I stop him.

"It's for my mum." He doesn't move or speak. "I should pay for it."

Without another word, and without hearing any rebutting from Harry, I pull out my money, ready to pay, when Harry's hand wraps around my wrist. I glance up at him, confused. He's still got the most serious expression on, but his eyes are somewhat deep with emotion. They bore into mine, and I'm slightly terrified at what that means.

"Give it to her as a present from me," he says.

I knit my eyebrows together. That's what this is about? "Harry, no. Honestly, you've paid for me too much already. It's about time I do something for you, isn't it?"

I receive a reaction that I decide I never wanted to see again. The one where Harry's eyes morph into two pools of blankness, his shoulders tense and he refrains from answering normally. It's like I can feel some sort of resentment when that happens, and I can never understand why.

Surprisingly, while I'm still obsessing in my head over why Harry tenses up like this, Harry hands over his money to the grateful owner of this store and manoeuvres the wall-hanging from my grasp and onto his shoulder. His soft fingers slide between mine and he leads me away.