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Teagan smoothed the white cloth with a practiced hand, fingertips pressing along each fold until it lay flat. The tea set gleamed faintly in the light, every cup already placed where it belonged. She gave a small, satisfied nod. The steam had yet to rise, but the table was ready.
Soon the scrape of chairs and the shuffle of feet drifted closer, voices layering until the room felt warm even before the first pour. Teagan lifted the pot and turned to her first guest.
“Bubble tea for Poppy. I made sure to add plenty of pearls.”
“Knew you’d get it right, Teagan!” Poppy’s laugh rang bright as she leaned forward, straw already between her teeth. She winked, playful and sure, and for a moment the table itself seemed to catch the spark. The spotted dress she wore only sharpened the cheer in her smile. She swirled the straw once, holding the cup aloft as if to show it off, before diving into the sweetness she clearly adored.
Teagan allowed herself a faint smile. As expected—Poppy’s delight was always quick, bold, and generous enough to share with the room.
She moved to the seat beside her.
“Cocoa for Toodles. Careful—it may still be hot.”
“Mmm… it smells so sweet!” She had been sitting very straight, shoulders pulled back as though determined to look proper for the occasion. But the moment the cup touched the table, she bent forward, nose almost brushing the rim.
Her hands circled it carefully, small fingers pressing tight as if afraid it might slip. A puff of breath sent ripples across the surface. Her eyes caught the rising steam, shining with both eagerness and a hint of worry. For all her effort to act grown, the cocoa’s promise unraveled her in an instant.
Teagan’s gaze softened. That balance of bravery and hesitation—so very her.
The laughter between Poppy and Toodles mingled easily, a light chatter that filled the space. But Teagan’s attention shifted toward another kind of presence, one quieter, almost reserved.
“Capella. For you, the usual chamomile—this time with a touch of orange.”
“…Thank you.” The reply was brief, soft enough to vanish if not for the clarity in her tone. A small smile followed, accompanied by a nod. The bell at her throat swayed gently, catching no sound. She brought the cup closer, breathing in with the patience of someone who savored more than flavor alone. Unlike the others, she did not rush.
Silence itself seemed to rest beside her, and somehow it did not clash but folded neatly into the harmony of the group.
The table, wrapped now in drifting steam, bloomed with difference: pearls sinking and rising in Poppy’s glass, cocoa clutched close in Toodles’s careful grip, chamomile glowing golden in Capella’s hands. Each cup was its own note, and together they composed something whole.
Teagan let her gaze travel over them, listening to the blend of laughter, quiet breaths, and the faint clink of porcelain. She drew in a long, even breath of her own.
—Another good tea party today.
The certainty warmed her more than the tea itself. What mattered was not only the drinks, but the way each guest sat as themselves, and the harmony she was allowed to hold for them.