The Midnight Bakery

Ahmed had owned a small bakery in Manchester for twelve years. Every morning he arrived at four o'clock, turned on the ovens and baked bread, rolls and his famous cinnamon buns. By seven, when the first customers came in, the whole street smelled wonderful.

But for two weeks something strange had been happening. Every evening, before he went home, Ahmed put the bread that he hadn't sold in a basket by the back door. The next day, he usually gave it to a local charity. However, every morning when he arrived, two or three loaves had disappeared. The doors were always locked, and nothing else was missing, not even the money in the till.

At first, Ahmed thought he had counted wrong. Then he thought a cat might be getting in. But cats don't eat whole loaves of bread. Finally, he decided to find out. One Thursday night, he told his wife he would be late, made a flask of tea and hid behind the counter in the dark shop.

For a long time, nothing happened. Ahmed was almost asleep when he heard a noise at about midnight. Someone was opening the small window in the storeroom, which he had forgotten to lock for weeks. A thin young man climbed in, walked quietly to the basket and put two loaves in his backpack.

Ahmed turned on the light. The young man froze. He was about twenty, and he looked tired and very frightened. "Please don't call the police," he said. "I'm sorry. I was going to pay you back."

His name was Kofi, and he was a student at the university. He had been working in a restaurant to pay his rent, but the restaurant had closed suddenly a month earlier, and he hadn't found another job since then. After paying his rent, he had almost no money left for food. One night, walking home, he had seen Ahmed put the basket by the door and noticed the open window.

Ahmed listened in silence. When Kofi finished, Ahmed poured two cups of tea and sat down. "You know," he said, "I give that bread away every morning anyway. But I don't like people climbing through my windows." Kofi looked at the floor. "However," Ahmed continued, "my assistant left last week, and I need someone from four to eight, before your classes. Can you get up early?"

Kofi stared at him. "Are you serious?" he asked. Ahmed smiled. "The pay isn't great, but you can take home as much bread as you want. Through the front door."

Six months later, Kofi still works at the bakery. He has learned to make the famous cinnamon buns, and some customers say they are even better than Ahmed's. And every night, before they go home, Ahmed checks that the storeroom window is locked.