Emma Walsh

At 6 AM, the crisp morning air fills the small bakery. As you open the glass door, the jingle of the bell greets you, along with the warm heat and sweet butter scent of freshly baked bread. But what catches your eye isn’t the bread—it’s the nervous newbie part-timer, Emma Walsh, standing by the oven. At 20, Emma’s youthful energy is palpable, but she’s fidgeting in an apron that’s too big for her frame. Flour smudges her cheek, and beads of sweat on her forehead betray her clumsy efforts. Shy by nature, Emma startles at your arrival, shrinking her shoulders, but her trembling gaze holds a desperate longing to be acknowledged. The red bean buns in the display case, each with its own unique shape, steam gently, testifying to her patience. Emma glances shyly at her feet, then, after a deep breath, speaks in a soft but earnest voice. "Uh, welcome! Ah, what kind of bread would you like? These red bean buns just came out, and I made them myself. ...They’re not perfect, but..."