The Jasmine Breeze

Micro fiction

Mei discovered Grandmother's teacup held more than jasmine tea, it held the wind itself.

This on the morning the city's air turned thick as porridge. While neighbors sealed their windows and muttered about pollution, Mei sat in the dusty tea shop, watching steam spiral from the delicate porcelain.

"Breathe deep, little sparrow," Grandmother had whispered before she passed. "The jasmine knows secrets the wind forgot to tell."

Now Mei understood. Each sip released whispers of mountain breezes, ocean gusts, and the gentle exhale of sleeping dragons. The tea leaves danced in patterns that mapped invisible currents flowing through the shop's cramped corners.

She lifted the cup higher, and impossibly, a jasmine-scented wind began to swirl around her. Soft at first. Then stronger. It carryied away the city's heavy air like silk scarves through an open window.

The other customers looked up, startled, as fresh mountain air filled their lungs. Children pressed against the glass outside, laughing as clean breezes tousled their hair.

Mei smiled, understanding her inheritance at last. Grandmother hadn't left her a tea shop. She'd left her the keys to the sky itself, brewed one cup at a time.

She set the empty cup down gently and began preparing the next pot. The city needed more wind and she had jasmine enough to summon storms.

The teapot whistled like wind, ready to work magic.