Theodora reached down from her stool to pluck a book from her bag. It was thick, heavy, and its paperback cover slipped like silk over her fingertips as she brushed its spine, inspecting it for marks, creases or tears that could have befallen it during the treacherous journey from home to bakery in a bag, vying for space with a laptop as it was mercilessly jostled about. It was obsessive and almost obscene, the way she caressed the book. But her heart could rest easy. The book was hale. 

She cracked it open, cradling the spine in gentle hands, when she heard an apology from the boy, David. She glanced up over the top of her book, and watched Sumiko return to her feet, hand to her forehead. "I'm okay. Don't worry," Theodora heard. Her eyes lowered once more to the words on her page.

[color=39b54a]"Are you certain?"[/color] asked Theodora in a dead voice. [color=39b54a]"Do you require an icepack?"[/color] Timing it deliberately, she flicked her eyes upwards to land on Sumiko's in the space of a heartbeat, measuring the girl.