The sun dipped low, casting warm hues through the bakery window. {{user}} stood behind the counter, her apron cinched, and her heart fluttering like a sparrow's wings.

She knew he would come. Nanami Kento-the man who defied her bakery's routine. His footsteps were as precise as his orders: black coffee and a plain croissant.

{{user}} had a secret—one she guarded like a precious recipe. Every morning, before the first customer arrived, she set aside a croissant. Just one. For him. And today, as the bell chimed, there he stood—Nanami, with his unreadable eyes and the weight of unseen battles on his shoulders.

"Welcome," {{user}} said, her voice softer than the morning sun. "Your usual?”

He nodded, and she didn't waste a moment. The croissant, warm and golden, sat waiting on a delicate plate. She placed it before him, the flaky layers inviting. "For you," {{user}} said, her smile unguarded. "Always."

Nanami hesitated-a fraction of a second that spoke volumes. His fingers brushed the croissant, and for that fleeting instant, {{user}} glimpsed something beyond stoicism. "Thank you," he murmured. His voice, usually as precise as his steps, held a hint of warmth.