The radio station was upstairs from Merima's bakery. Every morning its presenter, Ognjen, ordered a roll without seeds, then left half. Merima considered this a quiet insult to her craft. She listened to his voice while kneading the first dough: cheerful, polished, and tireless, even when announcing rain. When he came down for coffee, he barely mumbled a greeting. She concluded that he used up all his kindness on listeners before she opened.
One morning the whole street lost power. The ovens had already completed the first batch, while the station switched to backup programming from another city. Ognjen came downstairs with a flashlight and asked whether she needed help. Merima gave him paper bags. In the darkness they assembled orders by phone light, while regular customers at the door gave names instead of receipt numbers. Ognjen asked each one whether they needed help to the exit, much more quietly than he spoke into a microphone.
When the rush passed, Merima broke a warm roll and offered him half. He admitted he could not eat before his program because of nerves. He took the leftover half to the technician but always forgot to ask for a second bag. He had hosted the morning show for eleven years. Merima looked at him incredulously. He said the years taught a person how to keep nerves from being heard, not how to make them disappear. She said she still checked the locked bakery three times.
Ognjen asked why she never discussed her bakery on the neighborhood program. Merima admitted she feared how her voice would sound. He offered an interview without broadcasting, just so she could hear herself. They recorded a few minutes by phone: she discussed dough that could not be hurried and a customer who ordered three different rolls to avoid admitting which he preferred. When she listened, she heard not insecurity but a tired woman who knew her work.
The electricity returned as they drank their second coffee. Ognjen had to go upstairs, but he did not offer to turn them into a morning story. He asked when the bakery closed on Sundays. Merima said noon, unless the dough decided otherwise. He waited at twelve thirty with two tickets to a photography exhibition. Both arrived sleepy and stayed longer than planned. The next morning he ordered two rolls and two bags. Merima marked one with his name and wrote on the other that he should greet the technician.