The bakery smelled like butter, cinnamon, and warm bread.It was the kind of café where nothing ever felt urgent.
Soft music. Expensive coffee. Pastries people ordered just to take one bite and leave behind.Everything was warm.Controlled.Comfortable.Until the door opened.A skinny boy stepped in — no older than eight — …
The bakery smelled like butter, cinnamon, and warm bread.It was the kind of café where nothing ever felt urgent. Read More