The morning was quiet, the kind that makes even small things feel important.
On the wooden table sat a white cup, simple and unadorned. Steam curled gently from the surface of the chai inside, carrying the scent of cardamom and warmth through the room. A small spoon rested in the cup, still, as if it had paused to listen.
Outside the window, life had already begun—vendors calling, birds arguing over crumbs, distant traffic weaving through the city. But inside, time moved slower.
A hand reached for the cup, hesitated, then wrapped around it. The warmth spread through tired fingers, steady and comforting. One sip, then another.
And for a brief moment, everything felt manageable again.
