She looked up, rolled her eyes slightly, and pushed off the wall. Her gaze flickered over to me, lingering a second too long before she turned her attention back to Bassy.
“What do you want again?” she asked, her tone filled with mild irritation, though her body language told a different story—flirty, maybe even intrigued. Still, she was professional enough to keep it subtle.
I stayed quiet, letting Bassy take the lead.
“I’m here for—” Bassy paused mid-sentence, glancing at me for the name he clearly didn’t want to get wrong.
“Soya,” I supplied.
“I’m here for Soya,” he continued, “the woman whose daughter was hospitalized due to excessive glucose levels.” He reached for the plastic bags in my hand and took them gently. “We’d like you to deliver this food to her and her friend. Just a
