Arun didn't like mornings. He also didn't like mornings when the fox spirit decided it was performance art hour.
He entered the teahouse to find a faint trail of glittering orange footprints winding across the floor. The floating tray from yesterday hovered lazily near the counter, wobbling slightly as if smugly aware of his presence.
"Good morning," Arun muttered, dragging his hand through the glitter trail. He flicked some off, but it stubbornly clung to his sleeve. "…Great. Just great."
Madam Ione was behind the counter, quietly arranging jars, and glanced at him with that calm, deadpan expression that made his chest tighten in ways he didn't fully understand.
"You seem… distracted," she said, voice mild, almost like she was commenting on the weather.
"I am distracted," he snapped, brushing orange dust from the tray. "By the fox, by floating trays, by—oh, and by inexplicable magical glitter that won't leave me alone!"
She raised an eyebrow. "Step twenty-one: accept the teahouse will always be more creative than you."
"…Thanks," Arun muttered. He felt a mixture of irritation and reluctant amusement.
Before he could recover, a customer entered. A young woman carrying a small bundle of flowers. Her eyes were tired, but there was something shy and hesitant about her posture, the way she clutched the bouquet. Arun noticed instantly — a subtle pull in her aura, if he dared call it that, like a memory tugging at the edges of her expression.
"Good morning," Arun said, trying to sound normal. "Tea?"
The woman hesitated. "I… I'm not sure what to have."
Arun glanced at Madam Ione, who was smirking faintly. "…What?" he asked, exasperated.
"I said nothing," she replied, deadpan. "…Mostly."
Arun sighed. "…Right. Tea then. Whatever helps."
He started preparing the cup, trying not to spill anything. The fox spirit appeared suddenly, leaping from shelf to shelf like it owned the place. It flicked a paw at the tray, sending tiny sparks dancing across the counter. Arun's hands shook slightly, and the cup wobbled.
"Seriously?" he muttered. "Do I have to babysit this thing all day?"
"You do," Madam Ione said calmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It tests everyone. Some more than others."
The woman's eyes followed the fox, widening slightly. Arun realized she was noticing the magic too — subtle, alive, a living presence that could be felt more than seen. Her fingers twitched around the bouquet.
"Why is your tea glowing?" she asked softly.
Arun groaned. "It's… um… a specialty."
Madam Ione interjected with her usual calm amusement: "It responds to emotion. And sometimes to small paws."
The fox leapt onto the counter again, brushing its tail along Arun's arm. Sparks shot across the tea cup, forming faint patterns — a sun, a leaf, a tiny laughing face. Arun blinked. "…I'm not even sure how I survived yesterday."
The young woman took the cup cautiously. As the warm tea touched her hands, her shoulders relaxed. She inhaled deeply, and Arun noticed her eyes glisten — not tears of sadness, exactly, but something fragile and unspoken.
"…It smells like home," she whispered.
Arun froze. For the first time, his sarcasm faltered completely. "…It does," he said quietly, more to himself than her. He realized he had actually noticed her subtle cues — the trembling fingers, the tight shoulders, the pull of memory in her gaze. For a moment, the chaos of the fox and floating tray faded.
Madam Ione leaned lightly on the counter, smirking faintly. "Observation," she said simply, voice low. "Sometimes the magic finds the person. Sometimes, it just needs someone paying attention."
Arun felt heat rise in his chest. "…Right," he muttered. "I guess I'm paying attention."
The fox, clearly dissatisfied with being ignored, leapt again, sending the cup spinning gently into a perfect arc. The tea landed back in the cup, sparkling. Arun blinked. "…I hate this thing," he muttered, though a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"You'll learn," Madam Ione said lightly. "…Or you'll at least survive it. That counts for something."
The young woman finally took a careful sip. Her eyes widened slightly. Arun noticed her lips twitch, as if she remembered something — a memory she'd been holding onto. A smile, small and cautious, broke across her face.
Arun looked at Madam Ione. She gave no explanation, only a faint raise of her eyebrow. "…I take it this is a good thing?" he asked, incredulous.
"It's tea," she said simply. "It does what it's supposed to. You notice. That's your part."
Arun leaned against the counter, hands gripping it tightly. He felt a strange mix of exhaustion and pride. He hadn't spilled the tea this time — not completely. He'd survived the fox's chaos. And for the first time, he realized that maybe sarcasm wasn't enough. He had to actually see the people in front of him, even if it made him uncomfortable.
"…I hate that too," he muttered softly.
"Step twenty-two: accept it," Madam Ione said, deadpan, though her eyes glimmered with amusement. "And try not to explode anything else before noon."
The fox curled its tail around a jar of herbs, watching Arun with what seemed like judgment. Arun muttered under his breath, "…I really don't belong here."
Madam Ione smirked faintly. "You belong exactly where you need to be. Don't let the sarcasm fool you."
Arun stared at the fox, at the woman, at the floating cups, and finally exhaled. Maybe she was right. Maybe he did belong.
He just didn't have to admit it out loud yet.