The streets of the small wizarding town were quiet at this hour, dimly lit by the glow of scattered lanterns. Tom Riddle walked with no particular direction, his footsteps steady against the cobblestone. He hadn’t planned to stop, but the scent in the air gave him pause—warm, rich, laced with cinnamon.

A bakery.

He had no reason to step inside, but hunger was an inconvenience he hadn’t bothered to avoid tonight. A quick meal—that was all he intended to get.

The bell above the door chimed as he entered, the warmth of the shop settling around him. Shelves lined with freshly baked bread, pastries displayed behind glass—simple, ordinary things. His gaze swept the shop indifferently, prepared to order and leave without another thought—until he saw you.

You, behind the counter, hands dusted with flour, hair loosely tied back. You, moving with ease, completely at home in a place like this.

It was absurd. Impossible.

Years had passed. He had changed—had become something far beyond the boy you once knew, and once loved.

He hadn’t seen you in years.

And he never thought he would again. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.