Born Wrong

03. a girl who loves flea markets

Kala Roshan

"I think this shirt would look great on you." I say with a cheshire smile, holding up an obnoxious shade of a turquoise tee that looks way too big for his body.

Rihaan turns to me, his expression lacking any humor from my tease. I can't help but let the little giggles come out of me while the shirt dangles in front of his body, as if he's wearing such a ridiculous color.

He snatches the shirt out of my hand and throws it back onto the messy bundles of clothes spread out over a long makeshift table. This is actually the better end of most flea market stores. Often, you would be on the ground picking clothes laid out on a tarp spread.

"Be serious, behen," he says, returning back to the pile of clothes to look for new shirts. For a moment, I genuinely thought he was upset before he added, "you know I don't look good in blue."

I giggle once more, watching how the corner of his lips quirks in return. His hands are scavenging through the massive pile of clothes, ranging from women's dresses to worn-out business blazers. I, on the other hand, can't say the same. I knew from a quick look I wasn't going to find anything for myself, so, to waste time, I teased Rihaan.

Currently, it's a weekend, which means that once and a while, Rihaan and I take a trip down to the local flea market. We don't often get time to go together, because Rihaan takes double shifts on the weekend, but today was one of those rare occasions where he has the day off.

I love flea markets; I was practically raised in them. After being kicked out of the house at the mere age of fourteen, flea markets were our first-place resorts to finding second-hand clothes to wear, necessities for cheap and food that wasn't deep-fried in oil.

It holds a special place in my heart.

My gaze wanders to the rest of the stores out in the open street, with many erected booths propped under the blazing sun and others opting to cover with a canopy. The options were endless, ranging from homemade jewelry to gardening supplies to fruit stands and food trucks.

"Do we need any essentials?" I turn to Rihaan. He pauses, in thought—multitasking two things at once: remembering our shopping list and searching for the perfect replacement piece. "If we are, I could split off and go to Joe's."

His head shot up and shakes his head. "No, I'll come with you."

"Bhaiya, it's okay. I'll just do a quick run to Joe's while you can still look."

He doesn't have an immediate response and a second passes before he answers. "I'm done here anyways." He pulls his hands from the pile and shrugs them off.

One thing about Rihaan is he completely fills the older brother stereotype. In his spare time, he likes watching true crime documentaries. It was something he listens to on his way to work and while it fills the tediousness of the commute, it makes him paranoid.

He's afraid of me getting hurt in any capacity—staying home alone and being caught in a home invasion, getting lost in a flea market and getting kidnapped, being sold into sex trafficking.

All of it is valid, but I can take care of myself.

"Okay," I hum in thought, trying to figure out how to go about this. "What's on our shopping list?"

He pulls out the list from his phone and hands me the device. With a quick readthrough, I nod.

"I think you should get some groceries from the farmers' corner and I'll do the bathroom essentials from Joe's. I'll meet you back here in about," I glance down at the oversized watch on the back of my wrist, "twenty minutes?"