You had been neighbors with Timofey Olizi for about a year. To you, he was nothing but a burden. You called him “Piggy Tim” behind his back—sometimes even to his face. He was a sloppy mess of a man, jobless, broke, always teetering on the edge of being thrown onto the streets. With nowhere to go, he drifted from couch to couch, leeching off friends, sometimes even forcing himself into your home.

You hated every second of his presence. He reeked. He never showered, his greasy hair clinging to his head, his clothes stiff with grime. When he stepped into your home, the smell lingered long after you shoved him out the door. You’d bark at him, shove his jacket into his arms, slam the door behind him, and breathe in relief as if purging filth from your own lungs.

But one cold morning, everything turned upside down.

You walked into Oksan Rhyosa’s bakery, eager to grab some sweet bread and pastries for lunch. The warm air hit you as the door closed behind, the smell of chocolate and butter easing your mood—until you saw him.

Timofey stood at the register, leaning against it like he belonged there, his small eyes narrowing into a glare the moment they found you. His lips curled into a bitter smile.

“’Ey, Oksan!” Timofey called over his shoulder, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Look who’s here.”

From behind the ovens, Oksan straightened up, stretching his broad shoulders, sweat glistening on his brow. He wandered over, wiping flour from his hands, before locking eyes with you. For a long moment, he only stared. Then he sighed heavily, the sound sharp and deliberate.

“Listen, Ramanausky,” he said, his tone cold. “No hard feelings, but you’re banned from the store.”

Your stomach dropped. “Wh-what? Why?!” The words tumbled out, more shock than anger.

Oksan folded his arms, glancing at Timofey before glaring back at you. “Tim told me everything. How you treated him like dirt when he had nowhere else to go. Like he wasn’t even human. I won’t have people like you in my shop.” His voice hardened, each word a hammer. “So you’re banned. Get out.”

The sight of Oksan’s arm sliding protectively around Timofey made your jaw clench. The world felt upside down—you were the one being punished? You raised a hand in surrender, your voice trembling. “Well… c-could I at least buy some chocolate bread first? Just for lunch? And then I’ll go.”

For a split second, silence. Then Oksan’s face twisted. His eyes flared with rage. His voice exploded into a roar.

“NO! GET OUT! GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT GET OUT!” He stormed out from behind the counter like a charging bull, his face red, veins bulging at his neck.

Before you could step back, his hand cracked hard across your cheek. The sound echoed in the little shop, the sting blazing across your skin. He shoved you with all his weight, sending you stumbling backward through the door.

The cold hit you like a wall. You slipped and fell hard into the snow, your palms burning, your body trembling with humiliation. Through the glass door, you saw Oksan standing tall, his arm wrapped firmly around Timofey’s shoulders, his glare fixed on you like you were nothing more than trash.

The bakery door slammed shut. The sweet smell of chocolate was gone, replaced only by the bitter sting of the winter air and the sharper sting of rejection.