She'd always been brought up to go to nice places. To talk to nice people. What her parents called 'proper people'. She took a chance, ignored her upbringing, and actually met someone worth forgetting everything for, in a place she would've never gone before. They think its wrong, society thinks its wrong. How can she prove it to be right?

Take a journey. You never know, you might enjoy it.


1. One

The thick smells of the Deli piled onto me all at once, like a blanket, almost suffocating, but not nasty. The spices were the most incredible- from cumin to paprika, and some I'd never heard of before, such as sumac and ajwain. The small shop was dim and musty and smelled reminiscent of a middle-eastern market, although how I came to this conclusion I did not know, as I had never been to such a place, only a small British Sunday market in the drizzle with my sister, Frankie. 

"How may I help you?"

The middle aged eastern man smiled at me warmly from behind the counter, and his teenage son was in the corner, quietly stacking green tins of what I believed to be some kind of beans.

"I-I'm okay, thank you", I replied, smiling nervously at the man. He nodded and returned to working, busily scribbling with a biro.

I took at few steps around the shop, my hands dug into my coat pockets for comfort, and my striped scarf slung around my neck . As I glanced at some foreign items on the shelf, the boy silently came up behind me, carefully watching my every move.

"Are you alright?"

I jumped, for I had not know that he was behind me. I breathed out a sigh of relief and put my hand on my chest as I realized it was only him.

"I'm fine, thanks", I half smiled at him. I tried to make some conversation. After all, this is what I came here to do.

"I didn't know you were there, you scared me", I said with a smile, attempting to show that I wasn't angry at him. He did not seem to get this joke, his dark eyes full of confusion.

"Oh, I am very, very sorry madam," he spoke in his slight eastern accent, "it will not happen again." He ran his blistered hands through his dark hair worryingly, as he retreated back to the other side of the shop, and returned to stacking tins, more rapidly this time. I felt bad as I walked over to him.

"It's okay, don't worry about it, I didn't mean it seriously", I said gently. He either didn't hear or didn't bother to look at me or reply. I tried again.

"I'm Margot, by the way", I spoke, a little louder this time. He stopped stacking tins and spoke.

"I am not supposed to talk to the customers like this", he said flatly, "it does not help business." He resumed his stacking.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean- I'll just go." I turned around and faced the door, and started walking towards it. My mother was right, I didn't fit in here, this is why we do and should stay separate. She doesn't like me mixing in with this end of town. We didn't belong.

Before I stepped out into the bracing cold, I turned to face the man at the counter.

"Thank you," I said. He nodded and walked out of the room, behind a beaded curtain, into what I assumed was a back room. The teenager noticed this, and turned to face me.

"David", he said. "My name is David"

"Nice to meet you David," I replied, and stepped outside the shop, closing the door behind me.

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