Kavya sat on the shoreline, the thin awning of her stall providing laughable coverage from the blazing sun. The sea air batted at her hair like the breath of a particularly lazy kitten, as the seabirds screamed and dove above her.

Her fingers worked deftly at another trinket, a driftwood box adorned with seashells and seaglass. She placed it next to the others, before a sign that read “5 rupee”. She sighed. She had barely sold anything, even at the height of tourist season, positioned on the busiest boardwalk in all of Mauritus. A jet ski carrying a reddened British couple skidded off behind her, and a child squealed eagerly from a glass-bottomed boat, pointing at the colourful fish below.

Kayva checked her watch. It was 1pm. Her brother would be finishing his shift at the Port Louie market now, and she might be able to snatch a free mango from their fruit stall if she got there in time.