The clock on the wall in Gaesha's little bakery clicked past midnight. The streets outside in Montmartre were calm and still, but inside her shop, "Gaesha's Sweets," it was full of noise.
Gaesha stood behind her counter, rolling out dough with strong hands. Her apron was messy, covered in white flour and brown chocolate smudges.
She was all alone in there, with the lights turned low and the radio playing a loud pop song she didn't really know. But that didn't stop her from singing her heart out.
"Oh, baby, love me loud, love me wild!" she shouted, swinging her rolling pin up like it was a microphone.
Her voice filled the room, a little rough but so full of joy. She spun around fast, almost knocking over a tray of fresh cookies, and then burst out laughing.
"Oops! Sorry, little cookies, you're okay now," she said. "I didn't mean to scare you!"
The bakery wasn't big—just one small room with a counter, an old oven, and a shelf full of her tasty treats.
The walls were a bright yellow, though the paint was chipped in spots, and she'd stuck up pictures everywhere: one of her mom smiling back in America, another of her very first cake, and a pretty postcard of the Eiffel Tower.
It wasn't a fancy place, but it belonged to her. Gaesha had worked hard, saving every single penny for three years to open this shop, and now she had big dreams for what it could become.
"One day," she said out loud, dropping a lump of dough onto the counter with a soft thud, "this little place is going to be huge. People will line up all the way around the block just to get my éclairs. They'll talk about me and say, 'Gaesha Pitt, she's the best baker in all of Paris!'"
She grinned wide at the thought, her hands smacking the dough over and over. It was late, and her eyes felt heavy, but she couldn't stop working.
After the wild food festival where she'd run into Kent, everything in her shop had sold out.
People couldn't get enough of her éclairs—even if some of them had ended up splattered on a grumpy man's suit. She giggled to herself, picturing his annoyed face again.
"Kent Sivan," she said, letting his name roll off her tongue. "What a fancy name. It sounds like something a prince would have. A fussy, stuck-up prince, maybe."
She started kneading the dough harder, her fingers moving fast and sure. "He didn't seem to like me very much, did he? Oh well, too bad for him. I liked him just fine. Those eyes of his—wow, so blue, like the sky on a clear day. And that little frown he had? Kind of cute, if you ask me."
The radio switched to a slower song, and Gaesha swayed her hips, humming along softly.
She grabbed a broom from the corner and started dancing with it, spinning around the tiny room.
"Oh, Kent, you'd dance with me if you weren't so stiff and proper," she said with a big laugh. "I'd get you to smile, I bet. I'm pretty good at making people happy like that."
Just then, her phone buzzed loud on the counter. She let go of the broom, letting it clatter to the floor, and picked up the phone.
It was a text from her friend Mia, who lived in the apartment right downstairs.
"Gaesha, it's one in the morning! Stop singing so loud!" the message read.
Gaesha laughed and tapped out a reply. "Sorry, Mia! I'm baking and dreaming over here. I can't help it—it's all too exciting!"
"You're totally crazy," Mia texted back quick. "Go to bed already."
"Not yet," Gaesha wrote, her fingers flying over the screen. "I've got big plans to work on."
She set the phone down and looked around her little shop. This bakery was her whole world now.
She'd left behind her old life in America—those boring jobs and dull, endless days—to chase something better here.
Paris was her fresh start, her chance to be somebody special. She wanted her name up on a big sign one day, her pastries in every café across the city.
She wanted people to bite into her food and feel happy deep down. "I'll get there," she said, nodding to herself. "One cookie at a time, step by step."
She turned back to her dough, shaping it into small, round balls with care. The radio kicked up again with a loud beat, and she couldn't hold back.
"Love me, love me, all night long!" she sang, throwing her head back with a wild grin. Flour puffed up into the air around her, and she coughed, waving her hands to clear it.
"Gaesha, you're such a mess," she said, talking to herself. "But at least you're a happy mess, right?"
The door creaked open just then, and Mia poked her head inside. She was tall, with curly hair tumbling down, still in her soft pajamas.
"I heard that," she said, stepping in. "You're going to wake up the whole street with all this noise."
"Mia!" Gaesha cried, running over to wrap her friend in a big hug. "Come in, come in! Do you want a cookie? I've got some fresh ones right over there."
"No, I want to sleep," Mia said, but a smile crept onto her face anyway. "What's got you so loud and bouncy tonight?"
"I'm happy," Gaesha said, bouncing on her toes. "The festival was amazing. I sold every single thing I brought. And—guess what—I even met a guy!"
Mia's eyes got wide and bright. "A guy? Oh, you have to tell me everything right now!"
"He's tall, British, and kind of grumpy," Gaesha said, her words tumbling out fast. "I accidentally spilled some éclairs all over him. He didn't laugh at all, but I couldn't stop laughing myself."
Mia snorted, covering her mouth. "You spilled food on him? That's so you, Gaesha. Classic move."
"Yeah, I know," Gaesha said, grinning even bigger. "His name's Kent. He's an architect or something like that. Super serious all the time. I'm pretty sure he hates me now."
"Or maybe he likes you," Mia said, leaning in with a sly look. "Grumpy guys always end up falling for the loud, fun ones like you."
"No way," Gaesha said, shaking her head fast. "He's way too fancy for someone like me. But still, he's stuck in my head, and I can't shake him out."
Mia slid onto a stool by the counter. "Sounds like you've got a crush, Gaesha."
"No way!" Gaesha said, her cheeks turning pink. "I just… I don't know, I think he's interesting, that's all."
"Sure, sure," Mia said, smirking like she didn't believe it. "Keep singing about him, then, if that's how you feel."
"I wasn't singing about him!" Gaesha said, her voice loud with protest. She grabbed a cookie from the tray and pushed it toward Mia. "Here, eat this and stop teasing me already."
Mia took the cookie and bit into it, chewing slowly. "Mmm, this is so good. You're going to be famous with these, I swear."
"That's the plan," Gaesha said, leaning her elbows on the counter. "I want this little shop to grow big. I want people to know my name, to really know who I am."
"You will," Mia said, nodding. "You're already too big for this tiny place, Gaesha."
Gaesha smiled soft and warm. "Thanks, Mia. Now you go back to sleep. I've got more dough to wrestle with here."
Mia stood up, stretching her arms. "Fine, fine. But please keep it down, okay? Some of us aren't night owls like you."
"I promise," Gaesha said, crossing her heart with her fingers. Mia waved and slipped out the door, leaving Gaesha alone again.
She turned the radio down low and kept working, her hands busy shaping the dough.
Her mind spun with thoughts, drifting back to Kent—those sharp blue eyes, the way he walked so stiff and straight.
Maybe she'd see him again someday. Maybe not. Either way, she had her bakery, her songs, and her dreams to keep her going. That was plenty for now.
She finished the last of the dough and slid the tray into the oven. The warm, sweet smell of baking started to fill the air, wrapping around her like a hug.
Gaesha sat down on the floor, leaning back against the counter, and closed her eyes for a moment.
"One day," she whispered to herself. "One day, Paris is going to love me, and I'll make it happen."
The song on the radio faded away, and she hummed the last little note, a quiet smile on her face in the stillness.
The bakery felt peaceful now, just her and the soft hum of the oven. She stretched out her legs, letting her tired body relax.
"Kent might not get it," she said under her breath, "but this is me. Singing, baking, dreaming—all of it."
She opened her eyes and looked up at the yellow walls, at the pictures of her life pinned there.
This was her start, her little corner of the world. She'd build it bigger, brighter, one treat at a time.
Gaesha pushed herself up, brushing flour off her hands, and peeked into the oven. The dough was rising, turning golden. "Perfect," she said, nodding. "Just like my plans."
The clock ticked on, but she didn't care. She had all night to bake, to dream, to sing a little softer now.
The streets outside stayed quiet, but inside Gaesha's Sweets, her heart was loud and full. She picked up her rolling pin again, tapping it on the counter like a drum.
"One day," she said again, her voice steady. "One day, this is all going to be mine." And with that, she smiled, ready for whatever came next.