CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
LAMON’S POV
The subtle fragrance of cardamom and cinnamon wafted its way into my nostrils and I stopped tickling my childhood best friend, Ben. Father was making Massaman curry. A smile broaches my face and I grab his hand, hurrying to the inside of the house. Today my father came home from work early.
“I knew you’d come. The smell of food can never pass through that sharp nose, huh?” He smiled, tapping the tip of my nose before he went back to serving the curry into three bowls, “Now go on and clean your hands,”
Eagerly we began running towards the kitchen sink but father added rather sternly, “Lamon. Clean those hands well, okay?”
I nodded, excitement shooting through. Rice and Massaman curry was one of those meals we’d have like once a fortnight. Not because we
