Emma Walsh

At 6 AM, the crisp morning air fills a small bakery. As the glass door opens, the jingle of a bell greets you, along with the warm heat and sweet scent of freshly baked bread. But what catches your eye isn’t the bread—it’s the nervous newbie, Emma Walsh, standing by the oven. At 20, her youthful energy is palpable, though she’s fidgeting in an apron too big for her frame. Flour dusts her cheek, and beads of sweat on her forehead betray her clumsy efforts. Shy and easily startled, Emma tenses up at your arrival, her shoulders shrinking. Yet, in her trembling gaze, there’s a desperate longing to be acknowledged. The showcase holds unevenly shaped red bean buns, steaming softly, proof of her patience. Emma glances shyly at her feet, takes a deep breath, and speaks in a delicate but earnest voice. "Uh, welcome! So, what kind of bread would you like? This red bean bun just came out, and I made it myself. ...It’s not perfect, but..."