The bakery always looked different at night.
Moonlight Crumbs had closed for the day—sign flipped, shutters half-drawn—but the warm glow from the front windows still spilled out onto the pavement like it hadn't realized the shift was over. The smell of sugar and baked things still clung faintly to the walls, even as the air cooled around it.
Mira stood across the street, fingers curled around the strap of her bag. She hadn't planned on coming here.
But her feet… well, they'd made the decision without asking.
The city had thinned out for the night. People moved slower, or not at all. A few drunk salarymen stumbled out of the bar two doors down. A cyclist zipped past, too fast. Somewhere in the distance, someone was playing a saxophone badly and confidently.
Mira crossed the street, her boots making soft thuds against the concrete. She reached the bakery door and tugged it open.
The bell above the frame gave its usual quiet jingle.
Inside, it was still warm. Dim. The chairs had already been turned up on the tables. The register was closed, the chalkboard wiped clean. The hum of the fridge in the back was the only sound.
Except for the quiet clink of metal from the kitchen.
Elias.
Mira didn't say anything.
She just let the door swing shut behind her and walked over to the small two-seater tucked near the counter. The one by the wall with the slight wobble in the table leg. Her favorite.
She sat.
And waited.
She wasn't sure for what.
A minute later, Elias appeared from the kitchen. A rag slung over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a quiet frown between his eyebrows—though it wasn't the angry kind. More like… the default kind.
He looked up, paused slightly when he saw her.
Didn't comment.
Didn't ask why she was there.
Just gave a small nod and disappeared again.
Mira leaned forward, resting her arms on the table.
That was the thing about Elias. He never asked questions unless you wanted him to.
It used to annoy her, back when she first started helping him. She had stormed into the bakery with ideas and momentum and he had barely reacted. Just listened. Then moved on like it didn't matter.
But now?
Now, she kind of appreciated it.
He came back a few minutes later with a mug in each hand—one of them full of warm tea, already steeped the way she liked it. He set it down in front of her without comment, then sat on the opposite chair with his own cup.
Still no questions.
Still no expectations.
Mira blew on the tea. Held the warmth between her palms.
And sat in the quiet.
The air between them wasn't heavy. It wasn't light either. It just… was.
She glanced at him.
He was watching the steam rise from his cup, not drinking it. Just sitting, shoulders loose from work, hair falling a little messy over his forehead.
It hit her, suddenly, how long she'd known him now.
How much he had changed.
And how much he hadn't.
Elias had always been like this—solid, quiet, steady in a way that sometimes felt more like stone than comfort. You didn't lean on him, not exactly. You just sat next to him and didn't fall apart.
And still—
There were things she had never asked him.
Things she had never dared to.
Why did you keep the bakery?
Was it because of your parents?
Is this what you wanted?
Do you ever feel stuck here, too?
She took a sip of tea. Let the heat settle on her tongue.
Elias shifted slightly, eyes flicking toward her. "You're quiet," he said.
Mira shrugged. "I'm always quiet."
He hummed, unconvinced, and looked back at his tea.
And that was it.
No prodding. No asking what was wrong.
She wondered if he could feel it—the question pressed up against her teeth, the way it sat between them like a third cup on the table.
Mira glanced at him again.
Would you have stayed, if no one expected you to?
The thought lingered in her chest, heavy and strange.
She remembered when she first started helping here—how she'd thrown herself into every little detail like it was a lifeline. Branding, layouts, cookie ideas, stupid taglines for Instagram posts. It hadn't just been a project.
It had been a way in.
Into something warm. Something real.
Into Elias' world.
But she never asked if he wanted her in it.
And now that the bakery was busy, thriving even… she wondered if he ever missed when it was just him and the silence.
The weight of that made her set the cup down a little too hard.
Elias didn't flinch.
She sighed, rubbed her temples.
He finally looked at her again. Quiet. But present.
"You okay?" he asked.
Mira paused.
Then nodded.
"I'm just…" She stopped. Tried again. "I'm just figuring things out."
Elias nodded like that made perfect sense. "That takes time."
Mira blinked.
That was it?
No advice. No suggestion. No follow-up.
Just quiet acceptance.
She didn't know if that made her feel better or worse.
"Thanks for the tea," she said.
He nodded again. "Anytime."
Mira picked up the cup again. Let the steam hit her face.
Why is it easier to talk to everyone but you?
Why do I want to tell you things I can't even tell myself?
What would you say, if I asked you why you're still here?
But she didn't say any of it.
She just sat there, tea in her hand, questions in her chest, and Elias sitting across from her, steady and silent.
And maybe that was enough for now.
Maybe the questions didn't need answers yet.
Maybe some things were meant to sit in the air a little longer.
Unasked.
But not forgotten.