Canvas & Crumbs

II

Ray of Sunshine

The days in the bakery slipped by like pages turning in a favorite book of mine, each one stuffed with the familiar patterns of my life: the early mornings spent kneading those fine dough, the tranquil afternoons arranging pastries, and the comforting buzz of conversation from the regular customers who frequented my shop. But amid the routine, something new had begun to stir in my heart-something I was not sure how to name.

It's him.

The light-blue almond eyes guy.

He had been a fixture in my rollercoaster life for months now, always sitting at his usual table by the window, sketchbook in hand. At first, he had been just another customer, albeit a more intriguing one with his quiet demeanor and intense focus. But somewhere along the way, something had changed. I had started looking ahead to the sight of him, to the moments when our eyes would meet across the crowded room, to the brief conversations that felt like weheld more meaning than words alone could convey.

It had begun with the simplest things.

The way he always greeted me with a soft-lingering smile when he came in, the way he seemed to notice the details others missed-the fresh flowers I placed on each table, the way I rearranged the pastries to catch the light just right. I can also assume that he notices me, too, in ways that made me feel seen in a way I hadn't before.

One late afternoon, as the golden light of the setting sun gushes through the windows, I find myself clinging by the counter, my eyes drawn once again to the figure of North, who was hunched over his sketchbook, completely absorbed in his work. I observe the way his hand moves, the pencil gliding effortlessly across the page, the occasional furrow of his brow when he focused on a particularly intricate detail.

I am sure that he's really into his passion. It's rare to see people who are dedicated to something that they are passionate about and it feels nice to see that my bakery has been an inspiration towards them.

There is something mesmerizing about the way he worked, something that made my chest tighten with an unfamiliar longing.

I wonder what it would be like to sit beside him. . . to s e e the world through his eyes. . . to u n d e r s t a n d what drove him to create with such passion and precision.

These random thoughts made me blush as hell and I hastily looked away, focusing on wiping down the counter as if it were the most important task in the world.

Though I look pretty dumb cleaning a counter that is not even dirty, I still managed to pretend it is. It is better than to be seen as a red fucking tomato, blushing over someone, right?