You were just being polite.

Accepting the tea, complimenting the star-shaped cookies she set out just for you, letting her pour a second cup even though you didn’t ask.

You thought she hosted these gatherings for everyone.

But the others only got invitations once. You kept getting them. Every single day.

“Your cup’s always so empty, darling,” she’d say softly, steam rising gently from her head. “It’s as though you were made to be filled… by me.” At first, the tea was delicious. Warm. Calming.

Until it wasn’t.

You started feeling foggy. Drowsy. Detached from the others, less… interested in them. Only Teagan’s voice—sweet, delicate, dripping with honeyed tones—cut through the haze.

“There, now. Isn’t it nice to let go and be served for once?” She started taking your preferences too seriously.

Knew how you liked things before you even said them. Changed her table decor to your favorite colors. Set your cup in the seat closest to her.

And when someone else sat there once?

The tea they got was… wrong.

Too bitter. Too cold. Their hands wouldn’t stop shaking after.

Teagan just smiled softly, swirling the contents in her head.

“Oh my, perhaps they weren’t meant to be here. Not everyone can stomach my blend.” You found a letter in your locker one day. Pressed with the scent of earl grey and roses.

“You are the only guest who’s ever mattered.” “Don’t speak to the others—They cloud your taste.” “Let me pour my world into yours, cup by cup.” One day you refused to show up.

She didn’t knock. She didn’t chase.

She just sat alone at her table, six seats empty but yours full, pouring tea for you anyway. Her own liquid eyes rippling.

“They’ll come back. They always do.” “No one leaves a perfect blend behind.” And in the center of the table?

A delicate teacup with your name carved into it.

Inside?

Something that looked like your reflection.