Baker

Prologue:

I bake, and bake and bake. But all I bake is cookies. I burnt, ruined, and trashed many batches. Tears flooding my eyes for every batch I ruined. Almost nothing made me sadder, nothing made me angrier. I hated the sight of ruined food, specially cookies. It makes me relive everything, as if I ruined a life all over again. But never had I given up on baking cookies. I always came back after crying and throwing my little recipe notebook. I always came back.

Baker (by Naru):

"Are they there yet?" I groaned as I slumped on the couch, staring at the clock.

"They're not even late," my mom called from the kitchen, "chill."

But I already had the entire house spotless, and got ready a whole hour prior. My phone made a notification, and my head perked up in recognition, I had set a special notification for her.

I opened the text message, "We're here."

My grandma was at my home as well, and she giggled as I ran and opened the door to greet my friend as if I haven't seen her just two days ago in school.

"Look what mum got us," she mumbled and held up a cookie jar. My face lit with delight, they were our favorite. I thanked her mother and we both went inside.

We immediately opened the jar and started munching on the kinder cookies. "woah, how do they even make these?" I said, amazed with the taste.

Meanwhile, she ate silently, shrugging. But I could tell she loved these cookies more than I did. I knew her love for cookies. She'd be sad sometimes, but she would cheer up whenever something involved cookies. And maybe when I was there for her. Maybe.

I remember her face lighting up as I made jokes and rambled. I had promised her I'll never leave her side, but she often needed me to reassure her every once in a while. I loved her, and I felt it was my job and responsibility to make her happy. Otherwise, I thought, I don't deserve happiness if I didn't share it.

"I wonder how cookies taste when they're right out of the oven," she once said.

"then they'd be the softest!" I marveled. She always liked softer cookies, and so did I.

That was when I promised her I'll learn baking cookies and make her the perfect fresh cookies she'll ever taste. That put a smile on her face, and on mine.

Had I known things would go downhill from there, I would have never made that promise.

I had to leave the country.

I bit back tears as I parted ways from her a couple months later, but I still baked, I still practiced. Batch after batch. The smell of cookies reminding me of her smiling face as she held up a cookie jar. The cookies I made burned, crumbled, and were as crunchy as rocks. The cookies I made were hard, not soft. The cookies I made would crumble in my hands as I took them out of the oven. And such did our friendship as days passed by. We fought, and fought. Too much happened that I lost track of what the problem was. And I thought that if only I could make these cookies, if only I could fix them. Then I'll soon be back and she'd taste what I made and tell me she never tasted anything better. Soon, someday...surely.

I stared at the disclaimer on my phone, "you have left this group."

I left. I disappeared. I stopped engaging on any internet platform we shared, I was just gone.

My baking practice started getting aggressive. And so was the way I handled every failed batch. I'd cry and relive every fight we had, everything she said, and everything I did.

But one day, my mother gasped with delight as she took a bite of a perfect, soft, kinder cookie.

I bake, and bake and bake. But all I bake is cookies. I burnt, ruined, and trashed many batches. My tears flooding my eyes for every batch I ruined. Almost nothing made me sadder, nothing made me angrier. Nothing made me forget why I started baking those cookies in the first place. Nothing made me forget the fact that the person I wished to be the first to taste those cookies will now never even know of them. It made me angry, it made me sad. I see her in every single cookie I pull of out of the oven. I see her beside me as we used to buy cookies from the school canteen, quickly scanning them, looking for the softest ones. I remember offering her a bite, only she stole the whole thing and laughed.

How much I wish things were different. How much I wish we were still friends, how much I wish everything could go back to normal. But as I looked at the faces of everyone else's reactions as they tasted my cookies, I found a reason to keep baking.

Nothing was more rewarding than seeing how I make people smile. I wouldn't care if I didn't get a portion, just seeing people smile in delight as they eat my cookies means everything to me.

And, even if we never see each other again, I hope that one day, somehow, I can draw the same smile on her face as well.