Short story by Axis.

Charcoal ash in a mulberry tea shop by...Axis

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The sun is dimming. The night is unfolding the ink-colored curtain covering the wooden balcony by the canal at the end of the old city. The wandering wind of the season is blowing around. The thick, heavy rain curtains are spread all over. The branches of the botanical leaves throw a vibrant shake, merging with the smell of the earth and the humidity of the tide. The evening air is cane, the necklace is sad, the sky above is closed, the stars fall on the ground like the earth on the other side. There is only a shining shadow of a long-stretching tree, as if to bake a cold around everything in silence.

The girl sank down on a low wooden bench by the balcony, a faint silhouette taped to her tired and lifeless pair of eyes; in her arms was a brown envelope wrinkled from being clenched; the black letters on it declared the defeat of a cold writing contest, a day full of suffering, and a lonely night at

Long in the days of wording, now it has become a meaningless piece of debris, deep in the abyss of the soul, still depleted and cold, like a jigsaw puzzle, the gist of the patchwork falling to the bottom of the blind. Loneliness takes time to incubate within the depths of a human being, and this night it has devoured her heart to almost no good pieces.

She let tears pour on her quiet paper, and what embraced her was a warm vapor of isolation, many thoughts circulating in her head, trying to build a shield to repel those failures.

The old tea boiler, the old owner of the wooden terrace, stepped in awkwardly. He made no mention of the terrible storm or failure she had just faced. The wrinkled but steady fingers moved, provided the terracotta charcoal stove. The tender orange sparks gradually lit up in the darkness.

The old man took a dried mulberry tea leaf.

Coming up from a dozen ancient glasses, those tea leaves looked withered, twisted, and fading priceless. He threw them into the boiling water in a terracotta raven. The sound of boiling water sounded among the rerai whimpering.

The girl looked at the picture with a second of hesitation, the heat of the scorching water, the dry tea leaves crispy, but instead of cracking, the tea leaves that had been curled gradually unfolded calmly, magnified the shape of the boiling tide in rhythm, turning the clear water into bright amber gold, with the faint smell of the air. Like a hot tea, the smelling of the smells of the smells was brightening the air and relaxing her tense emotions.

The old man poured warm tea into a cup of terracotta tiles, sending the girl cradled in her trembling hands. White smoke rolled up in strings before fading into the darkness. He caught his eyes with her eyes before mentioning faint words, deeply engraved.

"Without being scorched by the heat of boiling water, tea leaves would never have unfurled the petals to impart the deepest taste...People, too. Suffering today may only be the incubation process for our souls to perfume the next day. Wounds and failures are not the end, but the opportunity for us to learn to blossom together with the truth. "

She raised the teacup to her lips, and the bitter and astringent taste of the first gulp sailed through her mind. But when the tea passed through her throat, it turned into a sweet and strange warmth, a sweet back that was once rooted, but this time it didn't come with pain, but with a breeze of hope that energized the heart again, a breeze that extinguished the fiery fire of the heart to resist a terrible storm.

She lowered her hands, placed a cup of tea and a brown envelope on a wooden table, the skepticism and despair that had ever bitten began to fade, the two hands that had ever trembled returned calm, she looked across the wide river to the other side glittered with lights, those lights began to open to the queen friendly.

The night remained long and pleasant, and the deep desire lingered, and nurtured the hope of consciousness. She did not pick up the piece of paper again, but her eyes were on the edge of the fence, focused on the darkness over the water, waiting for the time when the first light of dawn would return, and waiting for the first light of dawn to slowly drive the shadow of the night away again.

Did you incubate our souls in the days to come and give us the opportunity to learn to bloom with the truth?