The snow is coming down heavier than it was when I left. As the snow hits my eyelashes and the cold permeates my body, I’m left wondering why I didn’t just stay in bed. It wasn’t much warmer there, I remind myself and a warm tea is exactly what I need after the disaster of a trip I just came back from.

  The snow coming down obstructs my field of view but still in the distance, I find the sign. Whimsical Beans. Exactly how I remember it yet there’s an unfamiliarity in the air. I’m used to seeing it during the day but now everything is illuminated, reflecting off of the snow. Not only that, though. There’s a crowd at 9pm on a Tuesday.

  I almost wouldn’t have believed it’s a coffee shop and not a bar if it weren’t for the smell of coffee beans and cinnamon that hits you as soon as you walk up. I’m home. I’m finally home. After 2 dreadfully long weeks. I will never leave again.

  I step in the door, being hit by an overwhelming scent of coffee, tea, and something else. Something unfamiliar. Earthy. Herby?

  It seems as if everyone in the room turns to look at me. As if they know something that I don’t. They sense that I don’t belong here. Maybe I don’t anymore. Dozens of unfamiliar faces directed toward me for a split second before they turned back to what they were doing. One typing so furiously I wonder if they are even writing anything of substance. Another knitting in the corner as if their life depended on it.

  Maybe I don’t belong here, I haven’t been able to write a single word or work on a single hobby of mine in years but yet, it comes to everyone here so effortlessly. Maybe they were right with their glances and initial judgements.

  “Would you like to try one of our daily specials?” The barista asks, pulling my gaze away from the unrelenting typist, bringing my attention to their new menu. It includes multiple drinks I don’t know how to pronounce and “infusions” for a dollar extra. The infusions listed are very vague, it seems almost like it’s an inside joke between the baristas and the regulars and I don’t dare ask.

  “Oh, sorry,” I say. “I was really wanting a hibiscus tea, hot, actually.” I glance at the menu board again and I don’t see it. I realize that even besides the daily specials, nothing on the menu board makes sense to me anymore.

  “Hibiscus tea? I’m not sure how to make that one but we probably have something I could use. I’ll have to ask. And will that be infused?” she eyes me up and down, as if to ask if I really belong here and I realize I am not sure anymore.

  “Infused? I don’t quite understand, I’m sorry.”

  “Have you not been here before? Oh. I see. You’re a writer. That’s why your eyes were on Ryan over there. Would you like what he’s having?”

  “Just the hibiscus tea, please. Not infused, I guess. Hot, please.” I remind her of the temperature level again just to be sure, because all I know anymore is that I need the warmth.

  “Sure. And you’ve had this here before?” she asks, trying to understand why she hasn’t seen me before. “I have, yeah. That’s one of my regular orders.” I hand her the $2.57 that the tea always costs. “I normally come during the day.” I add to answer the question she’s been asking with her eyes.

  “Okay, then we have the tea bags. Sure, coming right up.” She grabs my money and disappears to the back.

  After a few minutes, my hibiscus tea is sitting on the counter. I took it, making my way to the empty table by the fireplace.

  I sipped, feeling the warmth fill me from the inside out.

  This is what home feels like. Warm tea, filling you with warmth, like a hug from a loved one or a handwritten letter. Everything suddenly feels safe and you know you’re not alone.

  The fire crackles behind me and I’m transported back to my childhood.

  Winter afternoons on a Saturday, curled up next to the fire with a blanket and a book, seeing the snow make its way down outside the window, while I stayed warm and safe from the elements.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  I was suddenly 12 again, realizing why winter was always my favorite. When I wasn’t worried about the elements but rather what the elements did for me: creating beauty and the perfect atmosphere to spend the day reading.

  On the days when I wanted to face the snow, I’d put on my snowsuit and venture outdoors, to make snow angels, letting my body become one with the snow on the ground.

  “What is that in your cup?” A voice speaks to me, but I don’t see anyone.

  “Uh- hello?” I look around, still not seeing anyone.

  “I said. What is that in your cup?” A small, black cat jumps onto the seat next to me.

  “Are you– speaking to me?” I ask, beginning to think I’ve gone crazy. Or that I actually froze to death on my way here and now I’m hallucinating.

  “WHAT IS THAT IN YOUR CUP?” It yells at me from across the table.

  “Uh, hibiscus tea.” I look around to see if anyone else is seeing this or if it’s just me, but everyone is too engrossed in what they were already doing to look. The cat puts its paw dangerously close to the mug as if it thought about tipping it over but hesitated.

  “What does it do for you?”

  “Warms me up. It’s quite cold outside. How can you–”

  “Are you new in town or something?” It asks, judgement in its voice. The cat thinks I’m the weird one. Maybe I am, I am having a conversation with a cat.

  “No. I’ve lived here my entire life. I came back from a trip but it was only a few weeks. Do all the cats here suddenly talk now or something?”

  “You don’t even bother looking at the menu of places you order from? The cat asks, gesturing its paw to the menu board.

  I did notice that my usual drinks weren’t on the menu but the current menu board is essentially gibberish. Is it written in cat language or something?

  I saw the infusion and herbal offerings but it’s pretty vague. Now that she forced me to really look, I see the fine print.

  Infused tea for writers and creatives alike.

  Matcha with a lemon zest for magical powers.

  Catnip tea for feline friends

  WARNING: Do not drink before bed time.

  “What does this mean? I ask, fully convinced I may be going crazy. Asking a cat for explanations of a cafe menu.

  “Catnip tea gives me the power to talk.” She says, before dipping her paw into her own drink, licking her paw after.

  “Doesn’t catnip just get you high?”

  “It does that as well. Only mildly, though. I could still drive if needed,” she says.

  “Drive?”

  “I can do whatever I want.” She swishes her tail and walks over to the fire. “And be whatever I want.”

  “Are you not a cat?” I ask and then look around again to see if anyone has noticed that I’m talking to a cat but no one has batted an eye, still.

  “Of course I am a cat, darling.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Legally, my name is Whiskers but I would prefer it if you called me Sage.”

  “Legally? Like you have a birth certificate?” Sage thinks for a moment about this question like she’s never had to think about it before.

  “No. I guess I don’t. But that’s what my name was in a past life. I am Sage now.” A past life. Those words hit me hard and I realize that I’m not only talking to a cat but a dead one?

  “A past life,” I repeat, “Like, you’re dead or something?” I immediately regret asking because the answer to that scares me. If she’s dead, then maybe I’m also dead.

  “Are you crazy?” She asks, her tail swishing, “I am not dead. Why would you even ask something like that? Are you on drugs?”

  “I’m not really sure anymore.” Is all I could really say.

  “A past life. As in, that's what my previous owner named me. But they are gone. So, the name is gone for me too. It’s Sage now.”

  “Okay, Sage. I am Aurora.”

  “I know,” Sage says, “It’s getting late, I am going to go have a cat nap now. I hope to see you again soon.” She leapt up from the fire and made her way to the front door, ushering someone nearby to open it for her to let her out. From there, her black body vanished into the darkness.

  I found myself worrying for her. She was small and helpless, couldn’t even open a door by herself and she made no mention of a current owner. I hoped she would make it home safe in the snow, if she even had a home. She could be in the world all alone now.

  I pictured her leaving the warm and cozy cafe, where she sat by the fireplace and sipped tea to sleep on a picnic bench in the park, surrounded by snow, wondering if she would make it through the night until she could seek shelter again.

  Or maybe she did have a home and she was meeting her owner in bed, wrapped up cozy and tight in the blankets next to people who love her.

  I should’ve asked more questions before she left.