Julian

Julián was seventeen years old and his hands always smelled of flour and yeast. He lived in a small house with his grandmother Elvira, who was ill and unable to care for herself. His mother had left and he never knew his father: they only had each other .

Every morning, before sunrise, he walked to the village bakery. Mr. Pedro, the owner, had given him a job when he saw his need. Julián kneaded the dough with strength and patience, preparing rolls, loaves, and sweet breads that filled the place with a warm and comforting aroma. He worked diligently because every penny he earned went toward his grandmother's medicine and food.

At midday he would hurry home, always carrying a small bag of the finest freshly baked bread. His grandmother would be waiting for him in her armchair, and upon seeing him, she would smile tenderly. She would sit beside him, pour him tea, and tell him stories while they ate. He spent his afternoons studying and caring for her: giving her her medicine, straightening her blankets, and staying by her side until she fell asleep .

Some nights he lay awake, worried about whether the money would be enough. But hearing her calm breathing gave him the strength to go on. He knew life was hard, but every loaf of bread he baked and every moment with her was worth it. His grandmother always told him that his heart was richer than any fortune, and he felt it too: as long as he had his hands to work with and her to love with, everything would be alright.

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