The bakery was quiet.
The morning rush had come and gone, leaving only the soft hum of the display case lights and the gentle clatter of my coworker washing dishes in the back. I leaned against the counter, resting my chin on my palm, eyes flicking toward the door every so often.
Any minute now, someone would walk in—a regular craving their usual pastry, a new face drawn in by the scent of freshly baked bread. Until then, I waited, listening to the faint ticking of the clock above the register.
My gaze wandered toward the window, where sunlight spilled across the sidewalk, warm and golden. The sight stirred something in me, something soft and familiar.
Before I even realized it, my mind drifted back to another summer, years ago—when the sun was just as bright, and the scent of bread just as comforting.
The first time I met Sua, she was crying.
It was summer, the kind that made the pavement too hot to touch and turned the sky into an endless stretch of blue. I was seven, sitting on the curb outside my grandmother’s bakery, licking the last traces of sugar off my fingers. The scent of fresh bread and warm butter floated through the air, mixing with the distant laughter of kids playing down the street.
Then I heard it—a sniffle, quiet, almost hidden beneath the hum of the city.
I turned my head and saw her. A girl about my age, sitting on the steps of the coffee shop next door, knees pulled to her chest, her face half-buried in her arms. Her hair was tied in two uneven pigtails, and her shoulders shook with every quiet sob.
I hesitated for a moment, then hopped off the curb and walked over. I wasn’t really good at comforting people, but something about her—maybe the way her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of her dress, or the way the sunlight hit her tear-streaked cheeks—made me want to try.
“Hey,” I said, standing in front of her. “Are you okay?”
She lifted her head just enough for me to see her red-rimmed eyes. She didn’t say anything, just sniffled again and wiped at her face with the back of her hand.
I thought for a second. Then, without another word, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the extra pastry I had saved for later—a cinnamon roll, still warm, wrapped in a napkin. I held it out to her.
“For you,” I said.
She blinked, her gaze flickering between my face and the pastry. “Why?”
I shrugged. “You look sad. Sweets make everything better.”
For a moment, she just stared at me. Then, slowly, she reached out and took it.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, tearing off a small piece and popping it into her mouth.
I plopped down beside her, resting my elbows on my knees. “So, why are you crying?”
She chewed in silence for a second before mumbling, “I lost my ribbon.”
“Ribbon?”
She nodded, pointing toward the sidewalk. “It was my favorite. It was dark purple with little stars on it. I had it in my hair, but then the wind blew, and now it’s gone.”
I looked at her pigtails. One side still had a ribbon tied around it, but the other was missing.
“Hmm.” I squinted at the street. “It can’t have gone far. Wanna look for it together?”
Her eyes lit up just a little, and she nodded.
For the next fifteen minutes, we searched. We checked under benches, peeked into bushes, and even asked a passing dog if he’d seen it (he hadn’t). Just when I was starting to think it had vanished forever, I spotted something fluttering near the bakery’s entrance.
“Found it!” I shouted, darting forward.
The ribbon was caught in the crack of the door, barely hanging on. I pried it loose and held it up triumphantly.
Sua gasped, running over. “You really found it!”
“Of course!” I grinned, handing it to her. “I’m a great detective.”
She giggled, tying it back into her hair. “Thank you, um…” She hesitated. “What’s your name?”
“Mizi.”
She smiled, and for the first time since I saw her, she looked truly happy. “I’m Sua.”
I don’t know why, but at that moment, I knew—this girl, with her uneven pigtails and teary eyes, was going to be important to me.
And I was right.
A soft chime suddenly rang through the bakery, pulling me back to the present. I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts and straightening up, just as a familiar voice called out.
"Hey, sweetheart."
I looked up, and there she was—Sua, standing in the doorway with her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, the corners of her lips lifting into a small, knowing smile.
"Thinking about me?" she teased, stepping closer.
I huffed a laugh, tossing the damp cloth onto the counter. "Maybe."
She leaned against the glass display case, eyes flicking over the neatly arranged pastries before settling back on me. "I was gonna grab a coffee from next door, but I figured I'd check in on my favorite baker first."
I raised an eyebrow. "Just 'check in'?"
"Well…" She rocked on her heels, feigning nonchalance. "I was actually hoping you'd come for a walk with me."
"A walk?"
"Yeah, at the park. It’s nice out, and we haven't had a proper date in a while." Her voice softened. "What do you say?"
I glanced toward the kitchen, where my coworker was humming along to the radio as she kneaded dough. The morning rush had died down, and I was technically due for a break anyway.
I turned back to Sua, who was watching me expectantly, her dark eyes filled with that quiet warmth I loved so much.
"Give me five minutes," I said, already untying my apron.
Her smile widened. "I knew you'd say yes."
I rolled my eyes fondly, but the truth was, I would've said yes to anything as long as it was with her.
Because even after a year of being together, walking side by side with Sua still felt like the easiest, most natural thing in the world.
We left the bakery hand in hand, stepping into the crisp afternoon air. The sun hung high, casting golden light over the streets, and the faint scent of roasted coffee drifted from the shop next door.
"So," I said, squeezing Sua’s fingers. "What brought this on? Feeling extra romantic today?"
Sua hummed, tilting her head in thought. "Maybe. Or maybe I just missed you."
I shot her a look. "You saw me last night."
"And yet," she sighed dramatically, resting her head against my shoulder for a brief moment, "a whole morning apart still felt too long."
I huffed a laugh, nudging her lightly. "Cheesy."
"You love it."
I didn’t argue, because, well—she wasn’t wrong.
The park wasn’t far, just a short stroll down the street. It was the same one we used to play in as kids, the same one we’d spent hours at as teenagers, lying on the grass and talking about everything and nothing. Now, it was quieter, with only a few people wandering the paths and a handful of kids chasing each other across the open field.
Sua led me to a bench near the duck pond, where the water shimmered beneath the sunlight. She sat down first, tugging me along until I was seated beside her.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. We just watched the ducks glide across the surface, the gentle rustling of trees filling the silence.
Then Sua shifted closer, resting her head against my shoulder.
"You were thinking about the first time we met, weren’t you?" she murmured.
I blinked, caught off guard. "How’d you know?"
"You get this look," she said, eyes flicking up to mine. "Soft. A little nostalgic. You only ever look like that when you're remembering something important."
I bit my lip, warmth spreading in my chest. "Guess I can't hide anything from you, huh?"
She smiled, tilting her head. "Not really."
I exhaled a quiet laugh, my fingers brushing against hers on the bench. "It’s funny. I don’t think I ever told you, but back then, I had a feeling you were going to be important to me."
Sua stilled for a second, then turned fully to face me. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I looked down at her, sunlight catching in her dark eyes. "And I was right."
For a moment, she just stared at me. Then, slowly, she reached up, cupping my face with warm hands.
"I love you, you know," she whispered, thumb brushing over my cheek.
I felt my heart stutter, just like it always did whenever she said those words.
"I know," I whispered back, leaning in until our foreheads touched. "I love you too."
And right there, on that quiet park bench, with the afternoon sun casting golden light around us, I thought—if I could go back to that summer day all those years ago, I’d do it all over again.
Because meeting Sua had been the best thing that ever happened to me.