Zeyon's POV
Morning at the bakery was never quiet, but today felt louder than usual. Not the sounds of the mixer or the oven trays clinking but the noise inside my head. I was thinking again. About her.
Allison.
I don’t know what kind of weird magic she pulled, but ever since that night… she just kept popping in my head like some annoying pop song you didn’t wanna like but ended up humming all day.
She didn’t come back last night. Or the night before. Not even a text. Not even a message tied to a pigeon’s leg. Nothing.
I kept watching the door though. Like some hopeless loser from those cheesy dramas I always pretend I don’t watch.
“Maybe she busy,” Jessa said beside me while licking frosting off a spoon like it was her job. Actually, it was her job.
“She said she’d come again.”
“She also looked like she was running from a fire when she left,” Jessa said, sitting on the counter with no shame, swinging her legs and dipping her finger into the whipped cream I just made. “People like that don’t stay, Zey.”
I sighed and grabbed the piping bag from her. “You’re not even supposed to be here this early.”
“Because I’m not your employee,” she grinned. “I’m family. Remember?”
I rolled my eyes. “You keep saying that like it means you get free pastries and emotional privileges.”
“It does,” she said proudly. “You’re just in denial about how great I am.”
I didn’t argue. Mostly because she was probably right. But also because my chest was still tight with something I didn’t know how to say out loud.
I missed her.
Allison, I mean.
And the worst part? I didn’t even know her properly.
Not her favorite song. Not her birthday. Not what she looked like when she laughed too hard and forgot to hide it.
All I knew was she carried that worn-out notebook like it was her lifeline and she looked like someone who hadn’t rested in years.
But she made me feel like something was moving inside me again.
And now she’s just… gone.
“Are you writing a poem in your head?” Jessa teased, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Zey! Earth to brooding baker boy!”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
I glared at her. “What if she’s in trouble?”
“She’s a stranger, Zey. You gave her bread. Not your soul.”
“I gave her a lot of bread,” I muttered, then turned away so she wouldn't see my face.
I thought maybe she’d say something dumb like she always does. But she didn’t. She just sat there, quiet for a long moment.
Then she said softly, “You like her?”
I paused. “I think… yeah.”
“Even though she probably won’t come back?”
“Even though,” I whispered.
And that’s when the bell on the door rang.
We both froze.
But it wasn’t her.
It was a guy. Tall. Pale. Eyes like knives. Looked like he hadn’t slept in a year either.
He walked up to the counter and looked around. Then he said, “Does a girl named Allison come here?”
Jessa raised a brow. “What for?”
He looked at me. Straight in the eyes. “She left this.”
He pulled out a small note. Folded. Worn. My heart jumped.
I grabbed it with shaky hands and opened it.
It wasn’t even a full letter. Just a messy scribble.
“Sorry. I don’t belong in soft places. Thank you for being one anyway.”
No name. No goodbye. Just that.
My hands trembled as I folded it again and placed it into my apron pocket.
“Who are you?” I asked the guy.
He looked away. “Someone she used to know. I thought she might be here. Guess not.”
Then he turned and left like some ghost who was never meant to be part of our world anyway.
“Okay WHAT THE ACTUAL HECK,” Jessa shouted. “Was that her secret ex? Or a hitman? Or her long-lost twin?!?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered.
But my stomach hurt. And it wasn’t from the bread.
That night, after closing the shop, I sat on the rooftop again. No coffee this time. Just the wind and the sky and the ache of missing someone you barely knew but felt like you’ve waited for your whole life.
I didn’t want to hope anymore.
But I still looked at the streetlight below.
Just in case she passed by.
Just in case.