"Mel, are you okay?"
The burly young boy heard the question he heard hundreds of times in two days. Somehow, he did not seem angry. While Kristin did not budge on Mel's strange recovery, she was adamant about resting next to him in the shop for two days.
"I said I am fine, Nalt!"
Getting up from his bed and moving into the selling part of the shop, Mel replied while looking at his friends lined up across from him.
"We came but could not get in. We could not get past the guards at the door and were thrown back into the crowd!"
Speaking on behalf of the nine young people standing behind him, the crook-haired Nalt could not lift his gaze. He stiffened until Mel put his hand on his shoulder. He was ashamed, embarrassed that they could not be there for him in his most difficult time, but what he would soon hear would lift the weight in their hearts.
"You do not need to explain, Nalt. I know you and my other friends well. It is the thoughts that count!"
