Days passed slowly in Evermere.
The sky was always bright, and the air smelled like flowers and baked bread. Haruto had started to wake up early every morning, before the sun even rose. He would light the oven, prepare the flour, and wait for Kaori to come down for her room.
Kaori always smiled when she saw him working.
"You're getting used to the life, huh?" she said one morning.
Haruto laughed softly. "I guess I am. It feels… nice."
And it was. His days had fallen into a gentle rhythm. Mornings were for baking, afternoons were for helping around town, and evenings were for resting by the window while watching the sky turn gold.
He had never known life could be this peaceful.
When the bakery opened each morning, the smell of warm bread filled the street. People would line up outside before sunrise.
"Morning, Kaori-san! Morning, Haruto!" they would call out.
Haruto smiled and handed loaves with care. He already knew what everyone liked.
Old Mr. Taro always wanted rye bread with extra seeds. The twins, Mina and Sota, loved the sweet rolls covered in sugar. And little Hana came every morning just to watch the dough rise.
Sometimes Haruto told her, "You'll be a baker one day, Hana."
She would giggle. "Only if you teach me!"
Kaori watched these moments with a warm smile. "You're good with people, Haruto. The town likes you."
Haruto looked away, feeling shy. "I just… like seeing them happy."
One slow afternoon, Kaori showed him how to make her favorite bread—honey wheat.
"Baking isn't only about mixing things," she said as they worked. "It's about feeling. Bread carries your mood. If you're angry or sad, the dough feels it."
Haruto laughed a little. "Bread can feel?"
Kaori nodded seriously. "It can. It knows if your heart's heavy."
He thought about that as he kneaded the dough. His hands moved slowly, pressing and folding, pressing and folding. It was strange, but he really could feel something in it—like the dough was alive, breathing softly in his palms.
When the loaves came out of the oven, they were golden and perfect.
Kaori tore one open and handed it to him.
"Try it," she said.
Haruto took a bite. It was sweet and warm, like sunlight you could taste.
"How is it?" she asked.
He smiled. "It tastes happy."
Kaori laughed softly. "Then you did it right."
Sometimes Kaori sent him to the market to buy flour or fruit. Haruto liked walking there. The path passed by small houses with open windows and gardens full of herbs. He would always greet people along the way.
"Morning, Haruto!"
"Back from the bakery?"
"Save me a sweet rolls covered next time!"
He never realized how much a simple smile or hello could mean until now.
At the market, he often met other shopkeepers. There was Rina, who sold milk and cheese, and a tall man named Joji who made clay pots.
They always treated him kindly.
"Evermere's been quieter since you came," Joji joked once. "In a good way. You've got that calm air."
Haruto chuckled. "I guess I just like quiet places."
"Well," Rina said with a grin, "this town's full of them."
He carried the heavy flour bag home, feeling the soft wind on his face. Birds flew above the rooftops, and everything felt alive—not in a loud way, but in a calm, peaceful way that filled his chest with warmth.
That night, Haruto couldn't sleep. He sat by the window, watching the moon above Evermere. The little flower the strange girl had given him was still in the glass by his bed. It had stopped glowing days ago, but it still looked fresh—alive, somehow.
He thought about the people he had met.
About the children running through the streets.
About the sound of the bell tower every evening.
Is this what happiness feels like? he wondered.
To live simply… to care for others… to belong?
Outside, the town was quiet.
The moonlight touched the rooftops, the bakery, the river—everything looked peaceful and still.
Haruto closed his eyes, breathing in the faint scent of flour and sugar that lingered in the air.
His heart felt warm.
And as sleep gently pulled him away, he thought,
Tomorrow will smell like bread again.