Bakery

The heat hits you the moment you step out of the council office, that heavy, still kind of warmth that sticks to your skin. You squint against the sun as you cross the street, the air smelling faintly of tarmac and cut grass from the park nearby.

The bakery door opens, and a wave of warm, yeasty air rolls over you, mixed with the smell of fresh bread and sausage rolls. It’s even hotter inside, but the scent is comforting. You step into the short queue, feeling the light sheen of sweat at the back of your neck.

Your blouse clings slightly between your shoulder blades, and you tug at the fabric to give yourself some air. The glass counter gleams with rows of sandwiches, pasties, and cakes. You scan the options: Chicken salad, baguette, cheese and pickle, tuna mayo, ham and mustard, while the hum of the display fridge tries and fails to make the place feel cooler.

When it’s your turn, you order a chicken salad baguette and a cold bottle of water. The paper bag is warm in your hand, and the condensation from the bottle already dampens against your palm.

Outside again, the sunlight is blinding. You take a sip of water before heading back, the first mouthful so cold it makes your teeth ache, but you don’t care, it’s exactly what you needed.

Back at your desk, the air from the old fan stirs just enough to keep the heat from feeling suffocating. You unwrap your chicken salad baguette, the paper rustling in the quiet space around you. The first bite is soft bread, crisp lettuce, and cool chicken. Exactly the kind of simple lunch that makes you pause for a moment and just enjoy it.

From across the open-plan office, you can hear your younger colleagues chatting, their voices low but animated. They’re swapping phones back and forth, laughing at something, little bursts of “you have to see this one” and “oh my God, that’s so true.”

You catch the word T*kTok more than once. You’ve heard them mention it before: short videos, silly dances, recipes, and God knows what else. You’ve never bothered with it, but the way they’re talking now, it’s almost infectious.

You wipe your fingers on a napkin, pick up your phone, and open the app store. The download bar creeps across the screen while you finish the last bite of your baguette, curiosity creeping in.

By the time you’ve taken the final sip from your water bottle, the app is ready. One tap, and the bright, fast-moving world they’ve been talking about is suddenly in your hand.

The subtitles roll on, the woman’s story unfolding in clipped, teasing lines. You watch until the end, her smiling into the camera, a final flash of text about how it “changed everything.”

You blink, thumb hovering over the screen for a second longer, then lock your phone. A small shrug to yourself. Not your world. Not your marriage.

You’re too loyal for that, it’s not even a question. The idea feels far away, like something from a book you’d never pick up. You slip the phone face down on the desk, take a sip of tea, and turn your attention back to the spreadsheet in front of you.

Around you, the office hums on, the video already fading from your thoughts.