The first rays of morning sun spilled through the frosted glass windows of Butter & Whispers, painting the bakery in shades of gold and honey. Dust motes floated lazily in the beams of light, dancing like tiny fairies as the world outside was still rubbing the sleep from its eyes. Inside, the gentle hum of the oven was already filling the quiet shop with the scent of freshly baked croissants with their buttery layers crisping at the edges, cinnamon rolls glazed to perfection and their sugar caramelizing into a sweet perfume.
Aanya tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she wiped flour off her cheek. The bakery will be opened at seven, but she had been here since four. She always came early- just like her how grandmother used to. The quiet hours before the world awake were her sanctuary.
She moved through the kitchen like it was part of her soul. Dough rose beneath her fingers like soft clouds, the warmth of the oven kissed her skin, and every clink of a whisk or tray was a part of her morning melody.
Outside, the town was still waking up. A cyclist sped past. A sleepy couple held hands as they walked their dog. Everything was slow, peaceful.
"Morning, boss," Rina, her young assistant, chirped, balancing a crate of eggs against her hip. She had a smear of sleep still in her eyes but her smile was bright.
"You're ten minutes early," Aanya teased gently, glancing up from her dough.
"I wanted to beat Dev here for once," Rina grinned, placing the crate on the counter.
"Not a chance," came Dev's voice from behind her as he walked in, already tying his apron. "I was here at five-thirty. Someone's gotta make sure the muffins don't turn into bricks."
"They would only turn into bricks if you baked them," Rina shot back, sticking out her tongue.
Aanya chuckled, the sound soft but full, like warm honey. "Alright, you two. Less banter, more butter. Rina, start on the custard. Dev, the sourdough needs shaping before the customers arrive."
Both nodded, slipping into their tasks with practiced ease. The clatter of bowls, the hiss of steam, and the quiet laughter of her small team joined Aanya's rhythm, turning the kitchen into a living orchestra.
For a moment, she paused, leaning lightly against the counter, watching them move. This was what she loved most - the life that filled Butter & Whispers long before the first customer ever stepped inside.
And yet... her heart wasn't here.
It never truly was, not in these hours.
Every morning, before the first customer arrived, she placed a croissant and a cup of black coffee on the corner table by the window-Table 3.Always the same. Always untouched.
No one had ever sat there.
Not since him.
It had become a habit, one she couldn't explain. She didn't know if it was a form of remembering... or a quiet, stubborn kind of hoping.
She glanced at the clock. 6:48 a.m. Twelve minutes until opening.
She pulled out her journal from under the counter. Inside it, between half-finished recipes and forgotten shopping lists, were words she never spoke aloud.
"Do people ever come back?"
"If I loved him in silence... did it even count?"
The soft chime of the bell jolted her.
Not the welcoming ring of someone entering - this was different. Hesitant. The sound of someone lingering at the threshold.
Her gaze shifted toward the frosted glass door.
A silhouette. Tall. Still.
A man in a black coat. His shoulders were dusted with the faint shimmer of dawn's chill. Holding a worn leather notebook.
Eyes hidden under dark sunglasses.
A shadow of a memory she had buried long ago.
And for a second, time didn't move.
Not the clock.
Not the croissants in the oven.
Not her heart.