The afternoon was moving slowly in my small neighborhood bakery.
The ovens were cooling, the lunch rush had passed, and the shop felt unusually quiet. Those are the moments I usually treasure most, when I can pause, wipe down the counters, and enjoy the calm before the next task.
A young woman stepped inside, moving carefully, as if she hoped not to be noticed.
Her sleeves were pulled low over her hands. Her shoulders curved inward. She avoided eye contact and stood near the entrance for a moment, gathering the courage to approach the counter.
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