Chapter 2: A Cup of Tea and a Curveball

The kettle clicked.

Perfect timing.

Jasmine. Three minutes. No more, no less. Any longer and it becomes too bitter. Any shorter and it lacks depth. Love—and tea—require balance. Structure. Precision.

I breathed in the rising steam.

Right. Breathe.

I am in control of this moment.

Across the room, the woman in the white coat had begun wandering the shelves. Calm, slow steps. One hand grazing the spines of novels like she could tell which ones had been loved and which ones hadn’t.

She didn’t look rushed. Or lost. Or particularly impressed.

She looked like she belonged here more than I did.

I wasn’t staring.

I was observing.

That’s different.

I wasn’t—

“Do you prefer happy endings or the kind that hurt a little?” I asked, voice neutral, tone polite.

Calm. Confident. Professional.

She turned to me. Her smile was small, thoughtful.

“Today? I think I want something that leaves a scar.”

I blinked once. Then twice.

Okay. That’s specific.

But workable.

I turned to the shelf behind me, reaching for the book without looking.

Midnight Tangerine.
Tropes: heartbreak, regret, healing, ambiguous ending.
Emotional damage index: 8.5/10.

“Woman falls in love with her ex-fiancé’s sister. Fake dating involved. Regret hits hard around chapter seventeen,” I said, placing the book on the counter along with the cup of tea.

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s… oddly precise.”

“I’ve read a lot of these,” I said simply. “I categorize them. Internally.”

Internally, I was screaming.

She took the tea and wandered to the lounge seating near the window, cradling the cup like she was trying to solve it.

Okay. Deep breath.

You are normal.

This is normal.

You are just a boy in a bookstore handing someone a book and a beverage. Nothing strange about that.

...Except she didn’t say her name.

And she didn’t ask for mine.

And she didn’t say how she knew about the store.

And she looks like the kind of character who walks into chapter one and never leaves the story.

Okay, focus. Logically speaking, she’s just a customer. Just another human being with a fondness for emotionally risky literature and floral tea.

Emotionally risky literature.
Floral tea.
White coat.
Elegant bag.
Eyes that—

STOP.

The shop stayed quiet. Mom had left to grab groceries. Said I could lock up when things slowed down.

Which they had.

Except internally, I was fighting a small war.

But outwardly, I wiped down the counter. Restocked the napkins. Pretended not to glance at her every five minutes. Definitely didn’t count how many pages she’d turned.

She read slowly.

Not like she was skimming—but like she was... listening.

I like people who read like that.

Eventually, she stood. Walked over. Set three books down on the counter.

Midnight Tangerine.
Sakura Turns Back.
The One Who Watched From Afar.

All heartbreakers. All solid picks.

She didn’t look like she’d just finished three tragedies in a row. She looked like she’d finished three puzzles and was still deciding what the picture meant.

“Do you work here often?” she asked.

“I live here,” I replied before I could stop myself.

She tilted her head.

“I mean, I help my mom. Family business.”

“Ah. That explains the... enthusiasm.”

I coughed lightly. “Sorry if I overdid the recommendation.”

“No. It was perfect.”
She paused. “You’re different.”

Panic.

What did that mean? Different like “oh wow you’re refreshing” or different like “this boy definitely smells like he alphabetizes his dreams”?

But she just smiled.

“I’m Kaori Matsumoto, by the way.”

Matsumoto?

Wait—

That name…

“Are you—uh… from around here?”

She shrugged. “Let’s say I’ve been here before. It’s complicated.”

I nodded.

That explained nothing.

But okay.

She finished packing the books into her bag and paused just before leaving.

“Oh—and don’t tell your mom I stopped by. I want to surprise her later.”

And then she was gone.

The bell jingled behind her.

The bookstore went quiet again.

The light had dimmed to that golden-hour warmth that makes everything look nostalgic, even if it’s happening right now.

I stood still.

Then I sat.

Then I leaned my forehead against the counter and whispered to no one:

“She knew Mom.”

Ten minutes later, Mom returned. Grocery bags in hand.

“Did the place burn down while I was gone?”

“No.”

“Did you do inventory?”

“No.”

“Did something traumatic and deeply specific happen?”

“...Define traumatic.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“A woman came in. Her name was Kaori. She bought Midnight Tangerine.”

Mom froze.
Then smiled.
A smile that had too much knowledge in it.

“She say anything?”

“Said hi. And said not to say hi. And said it was a secret.”

Mom set the groceries down.

“Well, that’s Kaori for you.”

I blinked. “That’s your Kaori? The one from school?”

“Yup.”

“You never told me she’d be coming back.”

“She asked me not to.”

“Why?”

Mom shrugged. “Said she wanted to see how long it would take you to figure things out.”

I didn’t know what that meant.

But I had the feeling it wasn’t the last curveball I’d see this week.

And I hated how much I was kind of looking forward to it.