Fiction: Quin and the Girl in the Orange Coat

 This month's Words for Wednesday is hosted by Cindi at her blog, Of Dandelions and Sunshine. For more takes on this week's prompt, visit Cindi's blog here.
    This week's challenge: They say a picture is worth 1,000 words. Write at least 100 words about the image below.

Fiction: Quin and the Girl in the Orange Coat

He was the quiet one. The one who was like the calm before the storm until he released his lop-sided smile. It was not often that Quin smiled. When he did, it was as if he was laughing at some joke only he knew. Most people thought he was mute as he had never spoken nor made any sound. Other times, they thought he was blind as his grey eyes would dart here and there and never land on any particular thing. Sometimes he would tousle his short black hair and make it even more of a mess.
    Then there was the girl. She was slightly taller than the boy. Often, her steady gaze would look straight at you. Like Quin, she had grey eyes but they were darker and wider. When she grinned, a dimple would appeared on each corners of her pale cheeks. The girl did not speak much but she often sang, loud and clear, a song about dreaming in a boat. Her voice would scatter like the wind and echo into houses and people would stop to listen even though they have heard it many times before.
    No one knew who Quin and the girl were nor where they came from. The two of them appeared holding hands one late summer afternoon in our neighborhood while the light was dimming and a cool breeze was gliding through the streets. The girl wore an worn orange coat with the hood pulled over her head covering most of her blonde, curly hair. In her hand, she held the strap attached to a small camera though no one saw her took any pictures. From time to time, Quin would turn to look at her and smiled. It was the only time he kept his eyes steady.
    We only knew Quin's name because it was stitched in navy blue threads across the front on the right side of his faint red coat. The girl did not have a name or perhaps since she spoke so little and had a habit of not answering questions, we never heard her said anything resembling a name.
    As the summer turned into autumn, Quin and the girl continued to walk around our neighborhood. Just before winter ended, we stopped seeing them. Many of us wondered if they had gone home or perhaps they were just a dream we all had dreamt up.
    A year later, on an late summer afternoon, as the light dimmed and a gentle breeze began to wind its way around the neighborhood, Quin appeared. He wore the same faded red coat with his name though it was much too short for his tall frame. There was the same calm look on his face. His eyes still never settled on anything but there was a sadness in his gaze. In his right hand, he clutched the strap attached to a small camera.
    Quin, with his camera in his right hand, continued to appear in the neighborhood on late afternoons, just as the light was dimming and a cool breeze started. He would always walk close to the right of the sidewalk with his left hand held slightly at an angle as it he was still holding the girl's hand. Every now and then, he would turn to his left and released his lop-sided smile.