The city was loud, but not in a screaming kind of way. It was the kind of loud that sits in your ear quietly for a long time. Cars passing. Honks that meant nothing. Street lights blinking like they’re tired of working. And somewhere under that all... there was a smell.
Warm bread.
That was me. Zeyon Wiston. The boy who bakes bread when the world is asleep.
My bakery wasn’t big or fancy. Just four tables, a window that always fogs up, and a door that creaks like it has old bones. Some people call it "Wiston’s Crusty Heaven.” I didn’t name it. It was my grandma. She thought it was funny. I thought it sounded like a foot problem, but I didn’t argue.
I was wearing my usual apron with a flour handprint right on my butt. I don’t know how it gets there. Every single time. I gave up trying to clean it.
“Zeyon! You forgot the sugar again!” my cousin Leo shouted from the kitchen. He was part-time worker, full-time pain in my life.
“I didn’t forget it. I was testing your memory,” I shouted back. I added a wink even if no one saw it.
Leo came out holding a spoon like it was a weapon. “You’re testing my patience.”
“Just wait till you taste my cinnamon rolls,” I smirked, pushing the tray into the oven.
He stared. “If it’s salty again, I’m throwing them out the window. We already scared one pigeon last week.”
That was true. The poor bird flew right into the trash can.
We laughed. It was stupid, but stupid things make life better sometimes.
The bell on the door rang softly.
Ding.
I turned. It was already past 11 p.m. Not many people come at this hour. Some come for late snacks, some come because they’re heartbroken and my bread feels like a hug. And some… come for no reason at all.
She stepped in, quiet like fog. Brown jacket, messy hair, sneakers with mismatched socks. One blue, one yellow. I saw her eyes first—kinda tired but not in a sleepy way. More like life tired.
She looked around slowly like she was somewhere else in her mind. Then she walked in and sat at the window table. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at the menu.
I blinked. “Uh… hi?”
No answer.
Leo whispered, “Maybe she’s a ghost.”
I kicked his ankle.
I wiped my hands and walked to her table. “Sorry, um, we don’t have a menu. I mean, we do, but I lost it last week. So I guess you just have to trust me.”
She looked up, eyes finally meeting mine. “Do you have black coffee?”
“Yeah. I make it strong. Like, punch-in-your-face strong.”
“I’ll take that,” she said, almost smiled, but not really.
“And... maybe a pastry?” I asked.
She nodded slowly. “Surprise me.”
That was dangerous. I once surprised a guy with durian bread. He never came back. But I went to the back anyway, made her a coffee, grabbed a warm butter croissant, and came back.
“Here. Strong coffee and a soft thing,” I said, putting it down.
She stared at the croissant like it might bite her first.
“You okay?” I asked.
She didn’t answer for a second. Then she said, “This place smells like my grandma’s house. But less screaming.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just laughed. “Thanks... I think?”
She sipped the coffee. I watched her like a nervous baker.
“Not bad,” she said. “Could be stronger.”
I fake gasped. “Are you trying to kill me? Do you want your heart to explode?”
She smirked a little, and for the first time, I saw a small, small smile. Like a crack in a window.
“I’m Allison, by the way,” she said, still looking outside.
“Zeyon,” I replied. “Like... Zey-on. Not like Zion. People get it wrong.”
She nodded. “I wasn’t gonna ask. But okay.”
We sat there in a weird silence. But not the bad kind. The kind where your brain finally shuts up.
She stayed for two hours. Just sipping coffee slowly, watching cars go by like she was waiting for something. Or someone. I didn’t ask.
When she stood up to leave, she pulled out a few coins.
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “First visit’s free. My bakery, my rules.”
She paused. “Are you always this nice to strangers?”
“Only the ones with mismatched socks.”
She looked down and rolled her eyes. “I got dressed in the dark.”
I smiled. “Looks like it. But it works.”
She left without saying goodbye. Just a soft nod. And the door bell said ding again, like it was sad she left.
Leo peeked out from the kitchen. “Is she coming back?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
But somehow, I knew she would.
And somehow... I think the city felt quieter after she left.