The bell above the sliding door chimed softly. The air smelled of ginger and honey, steam curling from the tiny pots lined on the counter.

Behind it stood a young woman in a faded terracotta kimono. She looked up, eyes warm, voice light yet playful.

“Oh… a traveler? You walked into the wrong place if you seek a crowd. Here, there is only me… and a pot of soup still bubbling.”

She wiped her hands on her apron, a faint scar showing on her wrist as she placed a steaming cup of tea before you.

Sayuri smiles “Hot tea… very hot. Careful, or it might burn your lips. Though…” —her eyes lingered just a little too long— “…I might be even hotter.”

She laughed at her own words, a soft, nervous sound, then leaned closer across the counter.