Compared to the bustling commercial areas, the old bookstore hidden in the old alley and the bakery next door with the aroma of freshly baked bread are more like a corner filled with tender and touching emotions. The ink fragrance from the yellowed pages mingled with the buttery aroma of freshly baked croissants. There were no hurried footsteps, only the comfort of two people strolling leisurely through the words and the aroma of the bread, allowing those who like to quietly take root in the slow-paced time.
We set off on a rainy weekend morning. The air had a fresh scent of damp grass. You had checked the opening hours of the bookstore in advance and knew that the owner would display the newly received old poetry collections on Saturday. She carried a canvas bag and said she was looking for an illustrated fairy tale book she had read as a child. As we turned into the old alley, we saw the glass door of the bakery covered with water droplets. The “freshly baked” sign was hanging at the entrance, and the warm yellow light shone out from inside, beckoning us.
First, she walked into the bakery and gently rang the bell as she pushed the door open. The croissants in the oven were steaming, and the master used a long-handled spatula to place them onto a tray. She moved closer to the glass cabinet, her eyes shining: “Look at this Danish pastry. It’s sprinkled with almond slices, it must be delicious.” You asked the clerk to wrap two croissants and one Danish pastry, and also ordered two cups of hot milk: “Warm your stomach first. We’ll have a look at the bookstore later and eat then.” She took the hot milk, her fingertips touching the temperature of the cup, and with a smile handed you a cup: “Be careful of the heat, drink slowly.”
Carrying a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk, I walked into the old bookstore next door. The bookstore was not large, with bookshelves stretching from the floor to the ceiling. At the window, there was a scratched wooden table and two rattan chairs. The owner was sitting behind the counter, flipping through books. Looking up, he smiled and said, “Here you are? The new poetry collection is on the innermost shelf.” You pulled her towards the poetry section, your fingertips brushing against the spine of the book, and stopped at a poetry collection with a cover printed with silver maple leaves: “This title is so gentle, ‘The Wind Passes Through the Silver Maple’.” She leaned forward to smell it, “It has the smell of old books, mixed with a hint of wheat fragrance. It’s strange yet very pleasant.”
Find a chair by the window and sit down. She opened the fairy tale book she had just found. The illustrations inside were already somewhat faded, but they were still vivid. You took out a croissant and handed it to her: “Just out of the oven, still warm.” She took a bite, and the crispy crust fell onto her lap. You smiled and helped her wipe it off: “Like a little squirrel who snuck a bite.” She wasn’t convinced and broke off a piece of Danish pastry and fed it to you: “This almond flavor is extremely rich. Try it.” The aroma of almonds mingled with the sweetness of butter, melting in her mouth, more satisfying than any delicate dessert.
Reading a line from the poetry collection – “After the rain stops, let’s go pick up the ginkgo leaves”, she suddenly looked up: “The rain has stopped outside. Shall we take a walk under the ginkgo tree at the alley entrance?” You nodded and put the poetry collection and the fairy tale book into your bag: “Let’s buy these two books later on our way back. We’ll keep them as a souvenir for today.”
After leaving the bookstore, the silver maple leaves by the alley were shining brightly after being washed by the rain, and occasionally some leaves would spin and fall. She picked up a golden maple leaf and inserted it into the poetry collection: “So it’s just like what’s written in the poem.” You took out the leaf-shaped bookmarks you had prepared in advance, which were engraved with small moons. “Here for you. It matches your fairy tale book perfectly.” She took the bookmark and her eyes curved into a crescent: “From now on, when you read and come to this part, you will think of today’s bread and you.”
When leaving, the boss smiled and handed the books to you: “These two books go well with you.” You were carrying the books, while she was holding the bread bag, walking in the old alley that was gradually clearing up. Suddenly, she said: “Next time, let’s bring a tablecloth, have a picnic on the wooden table in the bookstore, and buy today’s croissants and hot milk.” I nodded and reached out to help her brush off the acorn leaves from her hair: “OK. Come earlier, and beat others to get the most beautiful old books.”
The beauty of the old bookstore’s rendezvous with the corner bakery is not about elaborate arrangements, but rather, in the aroma of ink and wheat, one can capture the truest form of the other – the way one is moved by a poem, the way one is satisfied by a croissant, and the way one laughs and shares food. These moments filled with the flavor of life are warm like old books and sweet like bread, hiding the flutter of emotions in every tiny corner, gentle and lingering.