croissant - a short story

A croissant.
A delectable treat.
A breakfast go-to for some, a sweet indulgence for others.

Seated on a bench in an urban green space, I held a particularly glossy, oversized pastry in my hand, enjoying the light breeze on a balmy day.

Its surface—golden, caramel-like, and impeccably laminated—was an edible work of art, almost too perfect to consume. Delicate flakes threatened to break free at the slightest touch. A gentle press released the intoxicating aroma of sweet butter, wrapping around my senses like a familiar embrace. A sigh of nostalgia slipped from my lips—I just knew it was going to be a good day.

Anticipation built as I lifted the croissant closer. The buttery fragrance lingered on my lips, sending my taste buds into overdrive. I sank my teeth in, and instantly, a shower of crispy flakes rained down onto my shirt. But I didn’t care. I was in bliss.

My eyes rolled back in sweet, buttery euphoria as a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. The contrast between the crisp outer shell and the airy, pillowy interior was nothing short of exquisite. Each layer melted effortlessly on my tongue, while the rich butter coated my palate, offering a harmonious blend of caramelisation and subtle sweetness.

I took another bite.
And another.
And another.

I didn’t want this to end. It was intoxicating, utterly divine.

Finally, I reached my favourite part—the perfectly crisp, golden corner. I popped it into my mouth, closed my eyes, and savoured the moment, letting the rich craftsmanship linger just a little longer.

And then, just like that, my temporary joy was over.

"You’re so silly," I mused, a bittersweet chuckle escaping as I opened my eyes. "It was nice while it lasted."

With a small sigh, I crumpled the now-empty paper bag, brushed away the soon-to-be-forgotten crumbs, and carried on with my day.