The Whispering Teapot

"You’re kicked out of here, Elara Hale! Pack your things and get out of here!" That loud, shrill voice still rang in Elara’s ears.

Elara Hale—she became an orphan when she was just five years old. At seventeen, her grandmother sent her to the Academy of Magic because she desperately wanted to become a witch like her parents.

“This café?”

Elara stood in front of the door to her grandmother’s old café. The scent of old wood and overdue bills was the first thing to greet Elara Hale at The Whispering Teapot.

The wooden sign above the door was half-peeled. The left side of the roof was slanted, and on the dusty bar counter lay a stack of red bill envelopes.

In 48 hours, Elara’s life had completely fallen apart. First, she’d been kicked out of Westbrook Academy of Magic for being considered too sensitive. Second, her grandmother had died, leaving her alone in this world with an old, nearly bankrupt café in the quiet town of Willowbrook.

Elara walked into the small kitchen. On the top shelf sat a faded blue ceramic teapot with jasmine flower carvings that were slightly chipped.

The moment her finger touched the cold ceramic, a shrill voice whispered inside her head.

“Ouch, take it easy! Your fingers are so rough.”

Elara let out a soft scream and reflexively pulled her hand back. “Who’s that?”

“Who else? It’s me, of course—your grandmother’s most precious heirloom!” The blue teapot trembled. Its lid lifted slightly, then snapped back into place. “Bring this place back to life, Elara. Brew the tea, light the stove. If this place dies, all of us here will vanish too.”

Before Elara could process the teapot’s criticism, a wooden chair suddenly shifted on its own.

“Are all of you here alive?” she asked, a look of confusion on her face.

“Of course. You’re Elara, right? Please reopen this café so we can stay alive.” The blue teapot’s voice sounded again.

“Reopen it? But this café is really dirty and run-down. Will anyone even want to come here?”

The chairs and tables there were shifting around, whispering to one another—Elara had no idea what they were talking about.

“Hey! Stop whispering—I’m asking you a question,” Elara snapped irritably.

“Just open it for now, Elara. Later we’ll figure out how to get lots of customers to come here, just like when Grandma Elena first opened this café.”

“Don’t overthink it, Elara. If this café stays closed for too long, all of us here could truly vanish.”

“Yeah, Elara, open this café.”

“Elara!”

“Elara!”

All the objects in the room suddenly started echoing each other’s voices.

“Stop…!” Elara even covered her ears.

At exactly 11 a.m., Elara took the plunge and opened her café. She wiped down the tables and chairs, which were covered in dust.

“Everything looks clean now. So, what are we going to sell?” Elara looked at her blue teapot.

“Tea—there used to be a lot of customers who loved the tea here. You could also bake some delicious cakes to sell.”

“Huh? Cakes?” Elara looked surprised.

“Yes, your grandmother used to be really good at baking cakes, and many customers loved them.”

Elara just gave a strange smile. “The last time I baked, I burned the cookies.”

“Are you really Grandma Elena’s granddaughter?” asked the white porcelain cup.

“Of course I’m her granddaughter—otherwise, why would I have inherited this old café?”

Elara sat with her arms folded. Nearly an hour had passed, and not a single customer had shown up.

Finally, the doorbell chimed. A man stepped inside—he was too tall for the doorway of this old café. His dark gray eyes sharply scanned the surroundings.

“I thought this place was about to be torn down,” he said flatly.

“Oh… not yet,” Elara replied nervously. “I’m Elara. Grandma Elena’s granddaughter.”

“My name is Rowan, and I live next door.”

Rowan Blackwood, the next-door neighbor who, according to rumors, was a former witch hunter. A man whose life was governed by two strict rules: don’t believe in magic, and don’t trust anyone.

“One tea, no sugar,” Rowan ordered curtly.

Elara hurried into the kitchen. She looked around, confused. “What kind of tea should I make?”

“It seems she really isn’t Grandma Elena’s granddaughter.” The cup with the rose pattern whispered again.

“This is all happening too fast for me,” Elara grumbled.

“Let me handle this, Elara,” replied the blue teapot.

Elara was asked to turn on the stove, and the blue teapot was placed on top of it. Elara added a few chamomile leaves, and the blue teapot glowed with a bluish-white light.

“It’s ready.”

“It smells so good.” Elara’s face lit up with happiness as she inhaled the fragrant aroma emanating from the old blue teapot.

Elara immediately poured the hot water into a cup, and the soft voice whispered in her head again:

“That man… his heart is full of scars, Elara. Don’t be afraid of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just bring him the tea first.”

Elara carried the still-steaming teacup. “Here’s your tea. Please enjoy it.”

Rowan sipped it slowly. For a moment, the tension in the man’s shoulders eased.

“How does it taste?” Elara asked, looking curious.

“It’s nothing special,” Rowan replied, causing Elara’s face to scrunch up in annoyance.

Rowan took another sip of his tea, and once again his expression showed calmness.

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.”

“Wait!”

Elara, who had taken only two steps, stopped immediately. “What is it?” Elara turned around with a blank expression.

“Your roof is leaking on the west side,” Rowan said coldly. “It’ll be covered in mold before long.”

Rowan stood up, placed a copper coin on the table, then walked out without saying a word.

Elara, standing there, gaped in shock; she was speechless, then looked up at the ceiling of her old café, which was indeed leaking.

That night, a heavy downpour pounded Willowbrook. Elara could only catch the water seeping into her café with a large pot from the kitchen.

“Why does it have to rain, anyway?” she grumbled

At exactly 11 p.m., a loud knock sounded at the door. When Elara opened the door, Rowan stood there, soaking wet, carrying a heavy wooden toolbox in his hands. The man barged in without permission, brought out a folding ladder, and set it up right beneath the leak.

“Rowan? What are you doing?” Elara asked in surprise.

Rowan turned his head slightly, staring at Elara with a cold gaze.

“Fixing your leaky roof.”

“Why?”

“I just don’t want my house to get moldy because your café’s roof is leaking into mine.” The man climbed the ladder, then added curtly, “I’m not helping you.”

On the shelf, the blue teapot trembled slightly, penetrating Elara’s thoughts. “See? He’s a man with a wound.”

“A wound?”