Canvas & Crumbs

I

Encounter

I have always found comfort in the warmth of my bakery, Crust and Crumbs. The scent of freshly baked bread, the hum of the oven, and the rhythmic kneading of dough have been my solace since last year. But today, the familiar comfort felt distant, hidden behind a veil of agony.

As far as I can remember, it has been five months since my heart was tormented. . . Five months of suffering, since Rouge, the man I loved wholeheartedly, walked out of my life without caution, leaving me behind only with our never-ending memories and a ring I now kept in a drawer inside my bedroom. For a while, I threw myself into my business, baking from dawn until dusk, trying to fill the hollowness inside me with the sweetness of my delicacies and the warmth of those breads I made with love.

But no matter how many loaves I make. . .

No matter how many cakes I frost. . .

The anguish remains.

I don't know where I went wrong or what I did wrong to experience this. I have been reflecting towards myself for the last few months on what things I may have done to be left all alone.

In just a glimpse of an eye, my world turned upside down when I realized that he's already. . . g o n e.

Can't a genuine love really be enough for someone to stay?

For someone to be content?

The bell above the door jingled as a tall man entered the bakery, bringing with him a gust of brisky air. I scanned him from head to toe. He is a new face; I think he's new to this place. I have seen different faces every day, I am sure he's a novice.

He has a painter's smock slung over one shoulder; his hands stained with the colors of his trade. His dark brown hair is tousled, and his eyes—a shade of light blue—are filled with something I could not quite array.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice sounds sleek but tired.

"Morning," I coldly replied, offering a small smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "What would you like to have?"

He gazed around the bakery, taking in the assortment of pastries and breads displayed behind the glass. "What are your recommendations?"

I hesitated, then point out to a tray of my lovely croissants. "The almond croissants are fresh out of the oven. They are my favorite."

"I'll take one, then," he said, his lips curving into a slight smile. "And a coffee, please. Latte."

As I prepare his order, I couldn't help but discern the way he watches me, his gaze lingering on my hands as I moved. When I handed him the croissant and coffee, our fingers brushed, and I felt a spark, a fleeting moment of connection that startled me.

Well, that was weird.

I'd bet the cupid is playing a love scam with me again.

"Thanks," he said, taking the pastry and cup. "I'll just sit over there, if that's alright."

Why is he asking if it's all right as if I am obligated to command him or something?

I mean, I guess he's just being respectful.

If you'd ask me how he is? He seems to be one of your polite and respectful classmates in the lower grade whom you cannot have a conversation with.

"Of course," I replied, nodding towards a small table by the window. "Feel free."

As he settles into his seat, I returned to my own business, trying to push the encounter from my mind. But every now and then, I find myself glancing over at him, watching as he ate the croissant slowly, as though savoring each bite as if he had never eaten a delicious pastry.

He seems lost in thought, his gaze occasionally drifting to the window, where leaves flutters in the drift like strokes of paint on a canvas. I can sense that he's in his deep thoughts as of the moment.

When he finally rose to leave, he paused at the counter. "That was the best croissant I have ever had," he said, a hint of warmth in his voice, smiling at me. "I'll definitely be back for more."

"I-I'm glad you enjoyed it," I stammered, feeling a strange mix of emotions. "Have a good day."

"You, too," he said, before turning and walking out the door, the bell jingling softly in his wake.

Throughout the day, I couldn't stop thinking about him—about the way his presence have filled the small bakery, about the muffled intensity in his dazzling eyes.

Since my wound is still sore from the past trauma I have, I tried to tell myself it was nothing, just a fleeting moment with a stranger.