Saffron down is raising above the roofs, the world wakes up and I'm the only one out. My heels sound against the pavement, two cats play in the corner of a rose bush. My friend had invited me for breakfast and I'm happy to see him again. He's a storyteller, but he's not good with words, what he's amazing in is brewing tea. There are whole novels, poems and melodies between the flavors of the dried leaves and flowers, and the smells of the steam. He owns a teahouse and collects ancient instruments, and old books.
Tourists appear at his door from time to time, some come back again with gifts to his book collection. Two years ago an explorer and photographer from Paris visited, two months ago he came back carrying a tiny treasure, a small book with yellow pages, Shakespeare's second edition from the 16th century. Yes, people fall for my friend, they get so enchanted, even if they have never heard him singing in the morning. He could be a singer, but he loves the teahouse. I take a quick turn, push a gate, get through the traditional garden, till I pull the golden string of a little bell he keeps right next to the door.
I can't tell I'm not enchanted, not a little in love with my friend. The door is open so I push it, the smell of vanilla with jasmine hits me the moment I enter. The bright green tapestry gives you the feeling of waking up inside a forest, the small round tables carry lotus flowers. I hear the sound of tea, that is poured into the thin precious china with little blossoms, hand-painted on the edges of the cups.
"Hello," I hear his soft voice.
He smiles in a warm way and I try to breath steady. He seems to get more and more beautiful each time I meet him. His name is Taeil and everything in him is as magical as his tea.
"Hello, good morning," I say looking towards the door to the inside of the house.
"I prepared breakfast in the big room," he smiles, so I leave my shoes next to a pretty rug, in socks I walk along the bamboo floor, with its reach olive-green color, to a small table in the middle of the next room. The third door is half open and I notice Taeil's bed, the wooden frames, the white sheets. I stop and shiver, I've never asked if he sleeps alone...
The floor behind me squeaks, I turn to him, put a smile on and take my seat on a pillow on the floor. He places the tray in the middle of the table, the smell is lovely.
"So, I got a journey diary, written by one of my guests the other day. It's very interesting, I'm in the middle of chapter two," Taeil blushes a little, when he points towards his bedroom and I turn to notice the opened book on the sheet. "I should have closed the door," he jumps up and hurries to do so.
I watch the snacks on the table, honey filled cookies, fresh fruits, little vegetable rolls, all served in a fine way. Yes, my friend can cook, what can't he do. His secret passion is solving complicated math equations as he finished science high with a great degree. He studies music, plays piano and guitar.
"So, how are you?" I wait till he places the tea cup in front of me. He's a gentleman and I never argue with his manners. Great manners are hot.
"Oh it's going great, I have two new tea flavors, I made one today, so you can tell me if you like it," he smiles.
I try to act cool, however my stomach is twisting, my heart is beating faster each time we're alone.
"Will you leave for longer soon?" he asks and I tremble.
The plane tickets are nearly booked for my next journey, but I can't stay in one place for too long, my spirit is like a flame it needs action, while his spirit enjoys the silence and lameness of the desert inside the teahouse.
"I'll book the tickets today," I whisper.
I write books about my journeys, books I've never shared with him, I'm too afraid to make it obvious, I might have mentioned him a few times.
Our eyes met between the steaming tea.
"Try it," Taeil gets a little nervous and I grab the warm cup. The first sip is important, the taste is filling my mouth with reach green flavor of fresh moose, the spring sun with vanilla, like the creamy substance of a summer night out, and jasmine - hard, and strong.
"Delicious," I whisper placing the cup back.
"I'm happy," Taeil blushes again and we observe the steam.
I bite my lips for a moment, he plays with his hair strings.
He speaks my name and I look up, our eyes meet, the skin of my hands begins to tingle. We looks away, the first sun rays fall into the room, we're drinking the tea, Taeil offers to fill another cup. Our fingers brush when he gives the cup to me. There's something completely endless in his dark brown eyes, time stops, the sun rays become slow, like the dust that is circling inside each. My eyelashes fall, his fingers brush my face, something insanely wet places soft stains on my lips.
"I'm sorry!" Taeil jumps back. "I... I would never try to spoil..." he becomes very red.
I slam the tea cup on the table, moments later I'm up on my feet, ready to run, to leave, ready to kiss, when I fall over his face. I've waited for ages for him to make the first move, why has it taken so long? His fingers like morning fog in my hair, on my neck. Our breaths get heavy but the kisses stay sweet. Delicate like summer rain.
"What are we doing?" whispers Taeil.
"I don't know I just like it," I pull him closer.
Why is he so beautiful? Why is he so delicate? Why is he so warm? The dew is dripping off the edge of the roof, the morning light fills the room and I don't know how it happens, but step by step we stumble closer to the bedroom door, layers fall, his skin is endless, beautiful like the rest of him. He's as scared as I am, when we kiss and touch, explore each flavor, the finesse of each curve and body part. No words are needed, the tea gets cold on the small table, the book falls on the floor, his sheets are cold, his skin is burning-soft, his lips make me fall deeper. His delicate steady movement, nails digging into the sheets, into the soft skin of his shoulders... Before we notice we're on the mattress tangled like the lotus flowers on his tables, his breath is heavy, sweat drops stick to his matted hair, to his eyelashes, and again he tells a story without words, filling in the missing spots. His tongue is glued to the place right in the inside part of my lower lip. Just stop vanilla-jasmine, or we will never ever end this pleasure. The sun gets higher, the garden steams, the bell gives out a melody a few times, but the doors of the teahouse are locked today. Today it becomes much more than a teahouse. There's something insane in how easy it is, our intimate closeness.
"I always thought I wouldn't stand a chance," his nose is on mine, his lips brush mine by each word.
I blush harder, what was he afraid of, the most handsome man I've ever seen, I thought I'd never have a chance.
"Please stop this nonsense," I beg when my lips melt in his.
I guess I won't book the flight tickets today.
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