“Thank you for the kindness you didn’t know you were giving.
But I can’t stay where I’m only a test.
—Maya”
Logan searched for her for weeks—no answer.
Months later, during a charity visit in Harlem, Logan saw a small bakery:
“Maya’s Daisy Bread.”
He stepped inside.
There she was—hair tied back, apron dusted with flour, humming softly as she kneaded dough.
She dropped the bowl when she saw him.
“I… didn’t think you’d come.”
Logan pulled a pressed yellow daisy from his jacket.
“You never took anything from me, Maya,” he said softly.
“But you gave me something no one else ever has—trust.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“And now,” Logan continued, voice trembling, “if you’ll let me… I’d like to earn yours.”
The bakery smelled of cinnamon and warm bread.
Outside, children laughed.
Inside, two people stood—no tests, no walls, no wealth between them.
Just honesty.
And something sweeter than any bread Maya had ever baked:
A beginning.
See more on the next page
Advertisement
