What the cat dragged in

[Lalitha Vero]

Lalitha stilled.

Not much, just enough that the sway in her posture settled and the smile didn’t come back right away. His words sat oddly between them, like a note struck too hard and left ringing. For a moment she studied him with the quiet, intuitive focus she used on people before a song – listening more than looking. The tension in him finally showed its teeth, and for the first time that night she felt the faintest prickle of something heavier than she’d meant to stir. She recognised the look. It was the same look she’d worn herself once, when something precious had slipped through her fingers without permission.

“I didn’t say you were a kid,” she said at last. Softer now. She shifted the coat higher on her shoulders, swallowing herself deeper into its warmth, completely unaware of the intimacy of the gesture. Her fingers smoothed the collar absently, buying herself half a second to think, or maybe just letting the moment settle where it wanted. “And I know you’re not Sámiel. Or Jaro. Or anyone else you’ve been comparing yourself to.” Her head tipped, eyes bright. “You’re you. And you’re good at what you do. The Carnival wouldn’t stand without you.”

She gave the words time to breathe, but not time to touch deeply. “But I’m me.” Her mouth curved in a faint, almost amused smile, like she was sharing a private joke with the universe. Lalitha wasn’t built for neatness. She was the song people danced to before something broke, and she knew it. The whole carnival did, thanks to Renata’s reading. She glanced toward the lights flickering between the tents, eyes reflecting them like scattered glass. Then she gave a small, crooked laugh. “Some people are meant to build things that last, Marek. But some of us are just meant to pass through and make a mess along the way.”

Warmth returned easily, naturally, as if nothing heavy had been said at all. As if he didn’t look like he still wanted to wrestle the night itself. “You’re the first kind,” she added. “You hold the whole place up. You don’t waste your time getting tangled up in someone like me.” The last word carried a teasing lilt, gently disarming, almost playful. She reached out without thinking, brushing a speck of grease from his sleeve with her thumb. Then she withdrew just as casually, not away, but out of his direct line – breaking the moment’s geometry. “Come on,” she said. “Walk me back before I do something irresponsible like start singing to strangers or betting money I don’t have.”