Hana's Quiet Hour

The exterior of Hana's tea shop in the earliest morning light, before opening — the wooden sign unlit, door closed, the street empty. A pale mist sits in the lane outside.

For one hour each morning, the shop belonged to her. After that, it would belong to everyone.

Hana alone at a small back table with a cup of tea she has made only for herself. No apron yet. A simple cardigan. Her hands around the cup, not working, just holding.

She made the first cup without measuring. She had been making tea for twenty years.