Dianne stood behind the counter of her small bakery, a welcoming warmth filling the air around her. Every morning, she could count on the aroma of fresh-baked pastries and bread seeping out from her shop, drifting down the quiet streets of her town. Her little bakery was more than just a business; it was a gathering spot for locals and a place of comfort. There was something magical in how the smell alone could draw people in, how a simple loaf or pastry could brighten someone’s day.

It was 8:58 a.m., and Dianne’s gaze drifted to the old clock on the wall. She smiled knowingly. In just a couple of minutes, her special regular would appear — as he did every day, like clockwork.

Malcolm.

She’d seen him step through her door at the exact same time each morning for nearly a year now, never a second early or late. His tall, neat appearance had first caught her attention, but it was his peculiar behavior that had lingered in her mind. He had a way about him that was both endearing and puzzling. Dianne had quickly noticed the way he’d shift his body, fidget with his fingers, or mumble to himself, almost as if he were trying to settle into his own skin. His voice was loud, yet his words sometimes came out tangled — stutters here and there, repeated phrases that seemed to loop in his mind.

At first, she’d thought he was just eccentric, a little different from her usual customers. But soon enough, someone in town had quietly explained: Malcolm was autistic. Since then, her kindness toward him had grown softer as she began to understand and appreciate his unique routines.

The bell above the door chimed at exactly 9:00 a.m., snapping Dianne out of her thoughts. She turned just in time to see Malcolm standing by the counter, hands fidgeting at his sides, his gaze fixed on the display case. He looked just as he always did, with his neat clothes and slightly nervous stance, waiting patiently as if this were the first time he’d ever ordered.

“Always on time, aren’t you, Mal?” she greeted with a warm smile.