Waking up feels like coming out from under the water.
Wuju is soaked in a yearning, a name on the tip of his tongue. He looks down at his hands each time he has that dream. He knows it's recurring because he never grieves like this from sleep.
Always hazy, foggy. He tries to scour clear waters for a memory, a face, a voice. His hands come up empty and then he has to get out of bed to open the bakery.
One year has passed since these recurring dreams started. He always feels like his searching for something.
Chay is not a flower. He is a hero with magic flower power and he doesn't know what this whiny, crazy villain is doing in his house.
Chay grows small pink flowers in his cupped palms and deposits the pile
into a boiling pot. The concoction bubbles and glows golden briefly before a dark red puff of smoke rises from it and dissipates into the air.
Kim has caged him against the counter, hands planted on the surface and trapping Chay between them. Chay knows he can easily break
Kim is a villain who develops a soft spot for Porchay, newbie hero with magic flower power. Kim feels it boiling in his bloodstream--and it's not his fire power this time.
#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.
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.