#WujuBakery What if he was sloppy? How could a person completely erase all traces of himself when they've spent hours and hours engraving his memory into someone's life. How do you reverse a chemical reaction?
There's no perfect crime. You can't kill love and get away with it.
Inevitably, when the Baker finds that One Thing, it will come rushing back. There's a second teacup he doesn't remember buying. The spices are never where they are.
Somehow, The Baker has developed a taste for savory pastries, foregoing sugary sweetness.
And in the laundry he finds a leather jacket he's never seen or worn, but which felt awfully, devastatingly familiar. There's a guitar pick with clumsy engraving in the pocket.
There was a strange man who always came by Porchat's shop. He always bought the same cup of coffee--black, no sugar--and a bag of pastries to go. Always the special, and he never ate them there.
He liked to sit quietly in a corner, looking out the window.
Chay always felt a strange twinge of sadness whenever he saw that man by himself, but he seemed at peace whenever he sat in his little corner, sipping at his drink. Sometimes he read books, sometimes he worked quietly on his tablet.
But strangely, Chay was a little happy.
Today, it rained heavily and Chay hadn't expected him to drop by. But he did, like clockwork.
Dark hair, swept back; a black coat layered over his black clothes. He cut a harsh figure against the backdrop of house greenery that Chay surrounded his shop with.