They sit upon unsteady benches on the dusty ground, large skirts and white chemises stained brown by dirty breezes. The air is thick and hot, warm sweat trickling down their perfectly done faces, into their fake jewelry, releasing a faint scent that could only be called woman. The babble of voices from the swelling crowds are only a buzzing background sound, drowned out by the speaker's droning voice.
Brown eyes watch undetected as slender hands adorned with rings and dark twisting henna paint clasp together. Fingers, and stripes of mendhi, intertwining like thin vines.
They lean closer, placing their lips against the corner of the other's mouth, making a delicate sound at the point of contact before pulling back more quickly than usual. Small smiles play around their lips and for a moment their eyes are lost to a different world. In this moment their pulse beats to a different rhythm, reveling in the absolute wonder of the whim that brought this exchange.
Their hands return to their laps, unaware of the smiling eyes behind them.