The warm morning light filtered through the small windows of the bakery, casting soft, golden hues across the shop as Malin dusted flour from his hands. Business was steady, and he had just finished setting out the first batch of fresh loaves when a familiar figure appeared in the doorway.

The morning sun crept higher, casting warm rays across the cobbled streets of Bulsi-Jan. Malin’s heart jumped as soon as he saw her step into the bakery, the door creaking open to reveal Nahra. She seemed to bring the sunlight with her, her dark hair tumbling loosely down her back, her warm, sun-kissed skin glowing under the morning light. Her striking reddish-pink eyes, framed by thick lashes, held a quiet confidence, a look that hinted at both strength and vulnerability. No amount of simple peasant clothes could hide the natural elegance she carried—an elegance she seemed blissfully unaware of.

“Malin,” she greeted, her voice a soft lilt that he had come to look forward to each week. She gave him a gentle smile, one that lit her whole face.

In Malin’s eyes she seemed to bring the sunlight with her, her dark hair tumbling loosely down her back, her warm, sun-kissed skin glowing under the morning light. Her striking reddish-pink eyes, framed by thick lashes, held a quiet confidence, a look that hinted at both strength and vulnerability. No amount of simple peasant clothes could hide the natural elegance she carried—an elegance she seemed blissfully unaware of.

“Nahra!” He grinned, recovering quickly from his momentary daze. “Right on time. If you were any more predictable, I’d have a loaf waiting with your name carved on it.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “And if you were any less dramatic, I might start to worry.”

“Dramatic? Me?” he feigned innocence, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m merely trying to make your visit worth remembering. Otherwise, how would I ever keep you coming back?”

She laughed, a sound that made his heart feel lighter. “Maybe because I actually like your bread,” she teased, leaning against the counter. “I mean, it’s decent enough, even if it doesn’t quite live up to the grand claims you make about it.”

“Oh, harsh words!” he gasped, but there was a sparkle in his eye. “For your information, this ‘decent enough’ bread is crafted with unparalleled skill and care. Why, even the Sultan’s chef would weep if he had a taste.”

“Sure he would.” She grinned, crossing her arms as she raised an eyebrow. “What did you say last week? That it’s so good, it could ‘restore one’s soul’ or something equally absurd?”

“That’s true, you know,” he replied with mock seriousness, handing her a loaf with exaggerated care. “And I was being modest. My bread has powers you can’t even imagine.”

“Oh, I can imagine plenty,” she shot back, laughing as she took the loaf from him. “Care to join me outside? Or are you going to stand there all day and weave more stories about your so-called magic bread?”

Malin glanced around the bakery. His mother had disappeared to the back for a short rest, and the shop was still quiet. He shrugged, trying to keep his excitement in check. “I suppose I could be persuaded,” he replied, voice casual despite the anticipation building inside him.

“Good,” she said, smiling as she led the way out. “I know just the spot today.”

They left the bakery and walked through the winding streets, side by side. The familiar paths led them toward the edges of their little island, where the city’s noise faded, and the sounds of nature took over. Nahra led him up a small hill, one they had discovered years ago as early teenagers. It overlooked the rooftops of Bulsi-Jan, giving them a view of the sprawling city and the sparkling waterways that cut through it.

They sat atop the hill, settling into the grass, the morning sun casting soft shadows around them. Malin broke off a piece of the bread, handing it to her with a playful grin. “See? This is where my bread truly shines. The perfect view, the perfect company—could anything taste better?”

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes glinting with amusement. “You really have a high opinion of your skills, don’t you?”

“Confidence is the first step to success,” he replied, as though quoting some ancient wisdom. “But enough about me. Tell me, Nahra, any daring escapades this week? Did you wrestle a sea monster? Steal from the palace?”

Her lips twitched, as if holding back a laugh. “I did encounter a beast, yes,” she replied in an exaggeratedly serious tone. “A ferocious alley cat that nearly stole my lunch yesterday. It was a fierce battle, let me tell you.”

“Oh no, an alley cat!” Malin said, feigning shock. “Please tell me you emerged victorious?”

“Just barely,” she sighed, shaking her head with a dramatic sigh. “But I’m afraid it will haunt me for years to come.”

He snorted, unable to hold back his laughter. “You know, one day you’ll have to tell me what really happens in your week. I mean, unless your life truly is this thrilling.”

A moment of silence followed, and for just a second, he saw a flicker of something in her eyes—something she quickly masked with a smile. “Oh, you know me,” she replied lightly, glancing away. “Nothing exciting. Just trying to get by.”

He knew better. He knew more about her life than she realised, though he’d never dare tell her. He respected her silence, her choice to keep certain things hidden. But it didn’t stop him from wishing he could say, “I know, Nahra. I understand.” Instead, he kept the conversation light, giving her space, knowing that she would share her secrets only when she was ready.

“Getting by, huh?” he said, leaning back on his elbows, looking up at the sky. “Sounds like you could use a bit of my ‘magic bread’ to keep you going.”

“Ah, yes, your bread that heals all wounds,” she replied, taking another bite. “If that were true, I’d find a way to buy you out of business.”

“Then I’d be rich, and my mother wouldn’t know what to do with herself,” he replied, grinning.

“Your mother would probably hire you to work for her at home,” Nahra laughed. “She’d never let you stop baking.”

“True enough,” he said, laughing as well. “She’d probably make me bake every hour of the day. I’d become a prisoner of my own success.”

They fell into an easy silence after that, the kind that only old friends could share. Nahra leaned back, letting her gaze wander across the city, her eyes tracing the canals that glittered under the sun. Malin glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, watching as she took in the world around them. She seemed peaceful, content in a way that made his heart ache just a little. He knew her life wasn’t as carefree as she sometimes pretended, and he wished, more than anything, that he could give her a life free of worry.

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“So,” he said softly after a while, his gaze following hers over the rooftops, “if you could do anything, if you could have any life you wanted… what would it be?”

She paused, her expression thoughtful. “Honestly? I don’t know. Freedom, I guess. A life where I can go wherever I want, be whoever I want.” She glanced at him with a small smile. “But dreams like that aren’t easy to chase.”

He nodded, understanding more than he could say. “Well, you never know. Sometimes life surprises you.”

“Do you really believe that?” she asked, looking at him with those piercing eyes that seemed to see right through him.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

She studied him for a moment, as if trying to read his thoughts. Then she looked back out at the city, her expression softening. “Maybe you’re right,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Maybe we’re meant for more than we know.”

They sat in silence as the sun rose higher, casting a warm glow over the city. For Malin, these moments with Nahra were enough. They didn’t need grand words or confessions; their friendship was a quiet, steady thing, woven together over years of shared laughter, comfortable silences, and unspoken understanding. He didn’t know what the future held, but he knew that he would always hold these mornings with her close to his heart.

As the sun climbed, bathing the world in light, they sat side by side, looking out over Bulsi-Jan, the city stretched out before them like a sea of stories waiting to be told. And in that quiet, peaceful moment, the two friends shared a dream, a hope for something greater, a life that was just within reach yet still out of sight.

And for now, that was enough.

As Nahra walked away, leaving Malin behind on the hill, he felt a familiar pang in his chest, one he’d learned to bury deep within. He watched her figure grow smaller with each step, her graceful movements like poetry in motion. She didn’t belong here. No, Nahra wasn’t just any girl from the neighbourhood—she was The Princess, the only daughter, no, the only child of the Sultan himself. The truth was as undeniable as it was unreachable, like a star shining brightly in the night sky yet forever beyond his grasp. She was Nahra Kalkan, a name whispered with reverence throughout the kingdom, a name that would soon be bound to someone of status and power, not to a baker’s son.

Once she turned a corner, out of sight from Malin’s view, Nahra’s demeanor shifted ever so slightly, her posture straightening as she approached the entrance of a narrow alley. There, emerging from the shadows with an effortless grace, was her bodyguard, Maya Kamanjino. Maya was striking, with features sharp and delicate, her pale blonde hair pulled back into a neat yet practical braid that cascaded down her back. She was an elf, her almond-shaped eyes dark and perceptive, framed by high cheekbones that gave her an elegant, almost otherworldly beauty. Her skin was smooth and fair, with a quiet strength about her that was belied by her soft, teasing smile.

Maya stood tall; at the average height for a human man, though her figure was unmistakably feminine, her lithe frame clad in dark ninja gear that hugged her form while allowing her complete freedom of movement. In her early twenties, she carried herself with a confidence that bordered on cockiness, a boldness that revealed itself in the little smirk she wore as Nahra approached.

“Well, well, back from your little visit with the baker’s boy, hmm?” Maya’s voice held a playful tone as she stepped into Nahra’s path, arms crossed as she appraised her princess with a mischievous glint in her eye. “You really do have a taste for simple pleasures, don’t you?”

Nahra rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “Maya, must you always pester me?” she replied with a sigh, though there was warmth in her voice.

“Of course I must,” Maya grinned, a gleam of mischief lighting up her face. “It’s my duty to protect you from yourself, after all. And besides…” She leaned closer, casting a quick glance down the alley before whispering in a conspiratorial tone, “The bread he makes is rather good.”

Nahra chuckled softly, reaching into her satchel to pull out a piece of the loaf she had saved. She handed it to Maya with a knowing smile. “Here. Try not to devour it all at once.”

Maya’s eyes lit up, her usual playful arrogance giving way to genuine excitement. She took the bread eagerly, breaking off a piece and popping it into her mouth. A blissful expression crossed her face as she chewed, savoring the flavor. “By the gods, that boy can bake,” she murmured, her tone almost reverent. “Why, Princess, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you visit him just for his bread.”

“Perhaps I do,” Nahra replied, a hint of mischief in her own voice as she glanced away, her expression softening. “There’s a simple joy in spending time with him, one I can’t find anywhere else.”

Maya raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across her face. “Careful, Princess. You keep this up, and people might start thinking you’re in love with the baker.”

Nahra’s cheeks flushed, but she held her composure, giving Maya a gentle nudge as they began walking together. “You speak nonsense as always, Maya. Malin is a friend, nothing more.”

“Of course, of course,” Maya replied, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. “Just a friend who you happen to visit every week, sharing stolen moments and hiding behind hills so no one sees.”

Nahra shook her head, her smile tinged with both amusement and a hint of sadness. “You know very well why I keep my visits a secret,” she murmured. “It’s not as though I have a choice.”

Maya’s expression softened, the playful glint in her eye fading slightly. She understood. Nahra’s life was a gilded cage, her path predetermined from the day she was born. Soon, she would be married off to a suitor chosen by her father, a man of noble birth who would claim her hand, her body, and her future. It was the way of things, and though Nahra accepted it with grace, Maya knew the weight it placed on her shoulders.

As they neared the towering gates of the Great Kalkan Palace, Maya glanced down at the half-eaten bread in her hand. “Well, if it helps, I think you’re making the most of it,” she said, her tone gentler. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think he’d mind if he knew who you really are.”

Nahra’s gaze lingered on the palace looming ahead, the walls casting long shadows across the city below. She didn’t respond, but the look in her eyes spoke of longing and resignation. She clutched the remaining bread tightly, as though holding onto a fragment of the life she could never truly have.

As they stepped through the palace gates, the world around them shifted—the quiet, intimate moments left behind, replaced by the grand halls and silent courtiers that lined her path. Nahra knew she would have to lock away the girl who visited Malin, hiding her behind layers of silk and protocol, becoming once more the Princess that everyone expected her to be.

But even as the palace doors closed behind her, the taste of Malin’s bread lingered on her lips, a small reminder of the fleeting happiness she found outside the palace walls.

Back in the bakery, Malin sat behind the counter, his gaze drifting to the empty doorway where Nahra had disappeared. He knew who she was—had known for some time. She was no ordinary girl. Nahra Kalkan, the Sultan’s only daughter, heir to the Federation’s vast legacy, the one who would someday be the bride of a prince or a noble, a man chosen for his lineage, his wealth, his influence. She was destined to become a queen, to live a life of privilege and duty, bound by the invisible chains of royalty.

Malin knew all of this. And yet, he couldn’t stop the ache in his heart, the desperate wish that he kept buried beneath layers of laughter and bravado. He wanted her—Nahra, the girl who laughed with him, shared bread with him, and listened to his wild dreams with an understanding that no one else seemed to offer. He wanted her to be his bride, to walk beside him as they carved out a life of freedom and adventure, a life where titles and duties didn’t matter.

But he knew it was impossible. He was a baker’s son, born into a simple life with no claim to wealth or power. Nahra would be swept away to a world he could never reach, her fate sealed by tradition and expectation. In the end, he could only sit here, waiting for her weekly visits, cherishing each stolen moment, knowing that one day she would no longer be able to return.

He sighed, running a hand through his thick curls as he tried to shake off the weight of his longing. For now, he would play the part of her friend, the carefree baker with dreams of grandeur. He would make her laugh, listen to her stories, and share his wild tales, giving her a glimpse of the life they both knew she could never have.

And as he turned back to the task of kneading dough, his heart clung to that hidden wish, the one he dared not speak aloud—that maybe, just maybe, in another life, she could have been his bride, and he her groom.