It’s raining the next day when Haebin leaves her apartment.

She opens her umbrella in silence, looking at the darkening gray clouds, raindrops landing at the corner of her eye.  She blinks until the feeling goes away and begins walking to work.

The rain breaks into the pitter patter of lazy spring showers.  The shop is empty even so, Haebin relegated to stocking and fixing the shelves behind her counter.

Outside, hanging from their small sunroof are pots of plants, water collecting on the leaves and dropping when they get too heavy.

At least Heabin doesn’t have to water them today.

Printed over the overhead sign is a simple Releaf.  

There’s little pouches of dried leaves, mixed by hand for certain tea flavors, stocked behind Haebin alongside small tins holding even more for customized teas.  The small shelves that have been cramped into the small store are full of mismatched plants in mismatched pots and cups.  

The store gets enough customers, surprisingly even the plants sell alongside the tea, often as an afterthought, often as a small attempt to brighten a home, a day.  

Today with the rain no one is buying tea, no one is buying plants.

With the shop’s door open the smell of the cool air reaches Haebin, the smell of the warm rain fluttering something in her stomach, longing.

The sound of the splattering rain as the rain gains strength makes Haebin sigh.

She takes out her small notepad from under the counter, flipping it to the right page, words scrawled, crossed out, the corners of the page dogeared, wrinkled.

She shakes the small tins, writing down the names of spices and flowers from the ones that echo too loudly.

chamomile

ginger

rose

camellia

A soft knock breaks the silence, Haebin startles, looking back.

Her eyes meet with the girl behind the glass window, umbrella over her, the hand by the window turning from a knocking fist to a splayed out wave.

Haebin doesn’t say anything as the other girl walks in, careful when she closes her umbrella, leaving it to lean outside.

The girl looks around the small shop as she walks to the counter, smiling when she reaches her, eyes big.

“Xiening,” she says, pointing to herself, “from yesterday?”

Haebin nods, closing her notepad, suddenly remembering she hasn’t introduced herself.

“Han Haebin,” she says.

“Haebin?” Xiening asks.

“Yes,” Haebin nods, points to herself as well, “Haebin.”

There’s nothing that follows after that, Haebin can hear the way the rain starts to stop, meets the curious gaze of the other girl.

“What is that?” the girl asks, nodding at the tins behind the counter.

Haebin smiles at the question, turning to take out tins she thinks the girl will like.  She realizes she knows nothing of her but can't help pulling out certain scents.

“The base is quite expensive,” Haebin says, “but that doesn’t matter.  I have some chrysanthum I can add and some rose hip too.”

She doesn’t bother with the usual weighing machine she uses for these, “some safflower and cornflower with vanilla…”

Xiening watches her, listens to her talk.  It’s too fast for her to understand, too many unfamiliar words but she still reaches for her pocket when Haebin seals the little paper pouch, pulling out wrinkled bank notes.

“No,” Haebin puts her hand up, head shaking, “don’t worry about it.  No charge.”

The girl looks at her for a second, face searching until it cracks into a large smile, large eyes bright again.

“Thank you.”

Haebin watches her walk back into the rain.