In my tiny village where I grew up, bread wasn’t food. It was magic.

Dawn broke. A spell floated through the air. It tugged me from dreams, irresistible. Every house awakened, ovens roaring to life.

The kitchen transformed. A cave of wonders. Heat shimmered, flour danced.

Then, the moment. The oven growled open.

A dragon’s breath escaped. The loaf appeared – golden, majestic. A treasure beyond measure.

It sang as it cooled, crackling secrets only I could hear.

My hands shook. We broke the spell.

Steam erupted – a genie from a bottle. Smells of earth and sweetness swirled, making my head spin. The crust shattered like magic glass. Inside, a cloud so soft it might have floated away.

I bit. Crunch! Then melting miracles. Flavors exploded. My eyes closed, seeing stars.

This wasn’t eating. It was flying. Soaring through memories, tasting home itself.

I tried bread everywhere. Nothing came close. Nothing felt like this.

When the world turns dark, this is my light. When nothing makes sense, this is my truth.

Bread. My comfort. My story.

Simple. Earth-shaking. Forever.