CHAPTER 2 - " THE MOCKING CROWD "
1104 Words
The smell of freshly baked pandesal floated in the air — buttery, warm, and familiar. Pero sa loob ng Montenegro Artisan Bakery, malamig ang atmosphere. Tahimik ang mga empleyado, bawat isa’y nakayuko habang naglalakad si Amber Montenegro, ang bunsong anak ng kilalang Montenegro clan.
Nakasuot siya ng tailored beige blazer, pearl earrings, at isang tingin na kayang magpahinto ng oras.
“Good morning, ma’am,” bati ng cashier, halos pabulong.
Amber didn’t smile. “Are the sales reports ready?”
“Nasa office na po ni sir Miguel.”
At the sound of that name, she turned her head — and there he was.
Behind the glass wall of the kitchen, Miguel dela Cruz, the head baker, stood with rolled sleeves and flour-dusted arms, kneading dough like a sculptor shaping clay. Sweat glistened on his neck. His movements were unhurried, deliberate. Powerful in their simplicity.
For one stolen second, Amber forgot to breathe.
He shouldn’t look that good doing something that ordinary.
Mabilis niyang tinanggal ang tingin niya. “Right. I’ll review them later.”
---
“Amber!”
A high-pitched voice sliced through the calm.
Paglingon niya, pumasok ang tatlong babaeng parang lumabas direkta sa glossy magazine: Chloe, Isabelle, and Margaux — her old social circle. Designer bags. Loud perfume. Judgmental eyes.
“Babe!” singhal ni Chloe, halatang nawindang sa amoy ng harina. “Are you seriously working here? This place smells like carbs and effort.”
Isabelle laughed. “She’s going through her ‘commoner phase,’ obviously.”
Margaux smirked. “How... quaint.”
Amber straightened, chin high. “This bakery built the Montenegro name. Show some respect.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Respect? Babe, we donate to charities, not… manage them.”
Before Amber could speak, the kitchen door swung open.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” si Miguel — dala ang tray ng bagong labas na pandesal. Steam rose from the golden rolls, warm against the cool air. “Baka gusto n’yong tikman.”
Tahimik ang buong lugar.
Amber’s friends exchanged glances — eyes flicking from his strong hands to his plain white shirt.
Chloe whispered loudly, “Oh my God, he’s cute, pero… a baker?”
Miguel paused, tray still in hand. He heard it. Everyone did.
The room went still.
Then he smiled — calm, composed, almost defiant. “It’s okay, ma’am. Sanay na po ako ma-underestimate.”
Amber felt something twist in her chest.
“Chloe,” she warned softly, her voice steel under silk. “That’s enough.”
The silence that followed was sharp — until Miguel placed a roll in front of Amber, bowing slightly.
“Fresh from the oven, ma’am. Perfect with coffee.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Bring one to my table.”
Their eyes met for the first time.
No words.
Just a quiet recognition — two worlds brushing against each other for the first time.
---
Sa corner table, the girls continued their snide commentary.
“Amber, you can’t be serious about this whole ‘bakery supervision’ thing,” sabi ni Isabelle, swirling her latte. “You have a degree from London.”
“And a family legacy,” dagdag ni Margaux. “You should be at board meetings, not here, smelling like sugar.”
Amber sipped her coffee, eyes distant. “Sometimes, success smells better when it’s earned.”
Chloe snorted. “That’s poetic, but let’s be real — you’re slumming it. And for what? A paycheck?”
Amber’s lips curved. “Perspective.”
Miguel, who was cleaning the counter nearby, caught that word. Perspective.
For some reason, it lingered.
---
After an hour, Amber walked to the kitchen, her heels echoing on the tiles. The employees froze.
“Ma’am Amber,” bati ni Mr. Alvaro, ang shift manager. “Nandito po si—”
“I know,” she said. “I want to see how production works.”
Miguel turned, wiping his hands on a towel. “You sure about that, ma’am? Flour gets everywhere.”
“Then I’ll consider it… immersion.”
He smirked slightly. “As you wish.”
The tension was almost playful now.
She stepped closer, watching his hands knead.
“Why do you do that?” tanong niya.
“Do what?”
“That motion. Parang may rhythm.”
He chuckled. “Baka kasi may kanta sa loob ng isip ko habang nagbubuo ng tinapay.”
“What kind of song?”
“Depende sa araw,” sabi niya, habang hindi tumitingin sa kanya. “Pero ngayon? Something slow. Maybe jazz.”
Amber smiled faintly. “You don’t strike me as a jazz guy.”
“Maybe you don’t strike me as a bakery supervisor,” sagot niya.
For the first time, she laughed — soft, surprised, genuine.
Everyone in the room pretended not to stare.
---
That night, sa likod ng bakery, nagbibihis si Miguel — from apron to leather jacket. Inilagay niya sa bag ang kanyang boxing gloves, lumang pares na may gasgas at pawis ng daan-daang laban.
“From kneading dough to throwing punches,” bulong niya. “Ganyan talaga ang buhay.”
Habang sumasakay siya sa motor, napatingin siya sa second-floor window. Amber was there — watching, curious.
Their eyes met again, through glass and distance.
The streetlight flickered.
Neither looked away.
Then he smiled — brief, respectful, but enough to make her heart stutter.
---
Later that night, sa kwarto niya, binuksan ni Amber ang lumang leather journal niya — the one she hadn’t written in since college.
Journal Entry (Unsent):
He looked at me like I wasn’t a Montenegro. Like I was just… me. I don’t know if that’s comforting or terrifying.
---
Somewhere in Tondo, Miguel sat beside his sleeping sister, Lily, while humming a soft tune.
Nakapatong sa mesa ang maliit na pandesal, nilagay niya kanina sa bulsa bago umalis.
Sa tabi nito, isang maliit na note na sinulat niya sa tissue paper:
“She defended me when she didn’t have to. Maybe she’s not like them.”
He folded it and tucked it away.
---
The next morning, sa bakery, maagang dumating si Amber. Nakasuot siya ng simpleng white blouse, hair tied back — no makeup, no entourage.
Pagdating ni Miguel, halos hindi niya ito makilala. “Ma’am Amber?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling faintly. “Call me Amber when we’re working. Supervisors don’t need titles, right?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Okay… Amber.”
Something shifted.
From that moment, it wasn’t just an heiress and her baker.
It was a woman and a man — both trying to understand what it meant to be seen.
- Writer
