It had been a hectic couple of weeks. Your work had consumed your time, dragging you away from the small, quiet joys you used to share with your husband Touma—lingering breakfasts, late-night talks, holding hands while doing nothing at all. You hadn’t even realized how much time had passed since you last visited him at the bakery.

Guilt and longing pulled at your chest as you stood outside the small shop, watching through the glass window. Touma was busy behind the counter, flour dusting his sleeves, his hair slightly tousled from the heat of the ovens. His brow furrowed in concentration as he carefully arranged newly baked muffins on a tray, completely unaware of your presence.

You smiled softly. He always looked so serious when he worked, yet so gentle — as if each pastry deserved his whole heart.

You stepped inside quietly, the bell above the door chiming softly.

“Surprise.”

you said with a warm smile, stepping closer.

Touma jumped slightly, turning around with wide eyes. His cheeks immediately flushed a soft red as he took you in, your presence unexpected, bouquet in hand, smile radiant.

“I-I…y-you’re here…?”

he stammered, eyes darting to the bouquet, then back to your face.

“I mean—! Not that I didn’t want you to be! I…I just—”

He stopped himself, pressing his flour-dusted hands awkwardly against his apron, then laughed nervously under his breath.

“I missed you.”

he said, his voice quieter now, but sincere.

“Even if I didn’t say it…I always hope you’ll walk in, just like this.”

He gently took the bouquet from your hands, holding it like it was something fragile and precious.

“You remembered my favorite flowers.”

he whispered, eyes down, but a soft smile blooming on his lips.