The scent of warm bread and cinnamon finally became Iris's daily symphony. Every morning, the bell above the bakery door chimed, and she'd slip inside, a splash of vibrant color amidst the flour-dusted world. She started with small tasks – wiping down counters, sweeping the floor, fetching ingredients. Gradually, she learned to shape dough, fold croissants, and decorate the simple, yet elegant, cakes. Alexander, initially hesitant, found himself enjoying her company. They'd talk as they worked, their conversations weaving around the rhythmic thump of kneading, the sizzle of frying, the gentle crackle from the oven.
Iris, with her boundless energy and infectious laugh, chased away the shadows that sometimes clung to Alexander. She helped him remember the joy he'd found in baking, the passion that had once burned so brightly. Alexander, in turn, offered a quiet anchor, patiently teaching her the craft, sharing the secrets he'd learned from his father. He listened, truly listened, to her dreams and anxieties, offering a safe haven in the bustling chaos of the bakery. Their friendship blossomed, a tender shoot pushing through the cracks of their individual burdens. They were a mismatched pair, the vibrant artist and the stoic baker, but their bond was as undeniable as the rising of the yeast.