I turn the small stovetop off.

This time it is a child around the age of eight who steps into the teahouse. With the short bowl-cut hair and suspender shorts, the average person would probably think that the child is a boy. But fortunately for you and me, I'm not your average person. I know that she is actually a girl once I laid my eyes on her.

"Come, child. Sit." I tell the girl as I prepare a teapot for Mr. Barrett and pour boiling water over the concoction from earlier. "Here's your tea, Mr. Barrett. I hope you enjoy it."

"Thank you." Mr. Barrett thanks me before quietly sipping on his tea.

The stools in the teahouse are made for adults because they are my main clientele for the past few hundred years or so. However, every so often I do get children walking through those doors. But I never get any furniture in for those little people since it's fairly unfeasible for a business to prepare something for a niche of customers who only drop by once every few hundred years. This is a business, not a charity organization. Therefore, it took the child a little effort to climb up the stool. When she was firmly seated, I ask for her name.

"Luke Yang." She answers without hesitation.

I furrow my eyebrows. "Are you sure you're not Lucy Yang?"

The girl's eyes wavered when she heard the name, but she answers through gritted teeth. "No. I am Luke Yang."

I look at the girl and we have an impromptu staring contest until I decide to break eye contact. "Alright." Then I take the teardrop-shaped wooden plate from earlier and turn to the tea cabinet once again. I grab hold of the sliding ladder on the side of the cabinet and pull it towards the center before climbing it to reach the drawer closest to the ceiling. For her, I only take a dried flower. A special flower.

The teapot I used earlier for Mr. Barrett was a porcelain teapot, much like a miniature version of the porcelain kettle on the small stovetop. Even his teacup is made of the same material. But for the girl, I decide to use a transparent teapot and place the lone dried flower in it before pouring the still scalding water over it. The girl's eyes widen as the shriveled flower blooms at the contact with water and takes up all the space in the teapot as it comes into a full bloom.

As I look at the wonder in the girl's eyes thoughtfully, the bell over the door rings once more.