There’s a cigarette between her lips that’s almost burnt out, but she doesn’t move to put it out just yet. There’s something cathartic about the heat so close to her lips; the first cigarette she’s had in weeks, and yet another secret she keeps from her parents. It’s only when the smoke is nearly too hot for her to handle that she snuffs it out on her shoe, turning to the person nearby. “You going to be offended if I just drop this on the ground?” And maybe the question was intended to offend; an argument would take the edge off the swirl of conflicting emotions she felt, refusing to settle down, in the bottom of her stomach. Cathartic, indeed.
Padma was off looking for a spot to chart the stars when they smelled the pungent scent of nicotine. They followed it to their classmate, and they replied, quietly, “Are you intending to offend? Because I’m personally not too bothered, if you feel inclined pass me a smoke, and I’m pretty sure the grass doesn’t have any feelings, so.”
