The morning at the bakery started off quietly, with the familiar hum of the ovens and the occasional chime of the doorbell. Anabella was grateful for the routine, for the way her hands instinctively moved to knead dough or arrange pastries.
Yet, as customers filtered in, she became painfully aware of the way their gazes lingered on her. Whispered conversations and furtive glances became impossible to ignore.
Her heart raced as she focused on her work, but the weight of their stares pressed heavily on her shoulders. Each polite inquiry from a customer felt like it was laced with hidden questions, each smile like an invitation to ask something invasive.
"Hey," her manager's voice cut through the haze of her anxiety. The older woman stood near the counter, her gaze sharp as she surveyed the room. "Don't worry about them. Just focus on your tasks. I'll handle the front for now."
