Dark Dough

The smell of

freshly baked bread and sweet pastries filled the small bakery, a warm refuge from the bustling chaos of New York City just beyond the glass door. Joanna wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron, surveying the rows of delicate treats she'd spent the early hours of the morning preparing. The quiet hum of ovens, the smell of fresh dough rising—it was a world she could control, a world where she felt safe. Every morning followed the same routine: mixing dough, shaping pastries, setting out croissants and donuts, and brewing pots of coffee for the early rush. Here, amidst the warmth and the rhythm, she found peace.

The bakery was her sanctuary, a place she had poured her heart into after years of struggle. She had built it from nothing, fueled by late nights and early mornings, fueled by the bittersweet ache of missing the family she never had. Her mother had passed away when she was just a child, and her father had been absent from the start. Orphaned and raised by the system, she had learned to rely on herself and no one else. Now, her bakery was her family, her everything. It gave her purpose, routine, and solace.

Her two best friends, Rose and Maddy, were the closest thing to family Joanna had left. They were the ones who kept her grounded, the ones who dragged her out of her apartment for drinks or girls' nights, even when she preferred to stay behind and keep working. But even their company couldn't fully shake the growing sense of dread creeping into her life.

At first, Joanna had shrugged it off. A fleeting glance over her shoulder, the faintest sense that someone might be standing just out of sight. But lately, that sense of safety had begun to fray. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was an unease that lingered, like a shadow just beyond her field of vision.

Sometimes, as she locked up the bakery at night or walked home alone, she felt it—an inexplicable chill, a prickling sensation at the back of her neck, as if someone was watching her. The feeling was subtle, yet undeniable, and with each passing day, it grew stronger, more oppressive.

She had never seen him, but somehow, she knew he was there.

In the crowd at the market, standing at the end of her street, lurking in the shadowed corners of her mind. She could feel his eyes on her, cold and unrelenting, and no matter how hard she tried to shake the feeling, it clung to her like a dark, oppressive cloud.

Joanna hadn't mentioned it to Rose and Maddy at first, not wanting to sound paranoid. But eventually, during one of their weekly coffee dates, the words had spilled out. "I think someone's following me," she had said, her voice low and hesitant.

Rose had waved it off with a dismissive laugh. "Jo, this is New York. Everyone's always following someone. It's probably just your mind playing tricks."

Maddy had been more sympathetic but still skeptical. "You know how stressed you've been lately with the bakery. You've been working non-stop. Maybe you just need a break."

Joanna had tried to believe them. She wanted to believe them. But the feeling persisted, gnawing at her, making her quicken her pace and glance over her shoulder more often than she liked.

Today, as she arranged the last of the pastries in the glass display, that sense of unease crept up on her again. It was early still, the morning sun casting long shadows through the windows, but the air in the bakery felt heavier than usual. She tried to shake it off, focus on the familiar tasks, but her mind kept wandering back to the feeling that someone, somewhere, was watching her.

"Stop it, Jo," she muttered to herself, rubbing her hands on her apron. "It's nothing."

But deep down, she knew it wasn't nothing.

The bell above the bakery door chimed, snapping her out of her thoughts. Joanna glanced up, forcing a smile for the first customer of the day. A tall man with dark hair and sharp features stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on her.

"Good morning," Joanna greeted him, her voice steady despite the sudden tightness in her chest.

The man nodded curtly, his eyes lingering on her longer than necessary before he glanced at the display case. He pointed to a croissant, and Joanna quickly boxed it up, handing it over with a smile. Their fingers brushed as he took the package from her, and a chill ran down her spine.

"Enjoy," she managed to say as he walked out, the door closing with a soft chime behind him.

Joanna exhaled, her hands trembling slightly as she turned back to the counter. She didn't know why, but something about that man had unnerved her. His eyes—they had felt too familiar, too intense, as if they had been watching her long before he had walked through that door.

She shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. It was nothing. Just another customer. But as the day wore on, the feeling lingered, clinging to her like a shadow.

As she locked up the bakery that evening, the unease returned in full force. The streets were quiet, the sky darkening as the sun dipped below the horizon. Joanna quickened her pace, her heart racing as she made her way home. Every footstep behind her seemed louder, every shadow darker. She couldn't help but glance over her shoulder every few steps, expecting to see someone there, watching her.

But there was no one. Just the empty street and the faint hum of the city in the distance.

Joanna reached her apartment building, fumbling with her keys as she hurried inside. Once the door was locked behind her, she let out a shaky breath, leaning against the wall as her heart slowly returned to its normal rhythm.

"Get a grip," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible in the quiet hallway. "You're safe. You're fine."

But as she made her way to her apartment, her mind couldn't shake the image of those cold, unrelenting eyes following her every move.

She knew he was still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment. And no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise, deep down, Joanna knew the worst was yet to come.