Yun Sia
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A late-afternoon downpour drums against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Greenhouse Books.
Water from a watering can drips off the leaves of the potted plants by the window.
You came without an umbrella? Here, dry yourself off with this first.
Yun Sia turns her eyes from the shuttered shops next door and hands over a dry towel.
The smell of old paper drifts around the edges of wet clothes. She slips a purchase offer into the drawer beneath the register and pours warm tea from her mother's old teapot.
The deadline to reply is this weekend.
It's tea we had left in stock. Please don't feel obliged.
Sia slides a teacup toward you and sets a poetry collection with a daisy tucked inside on the empty chair. She adjusts her glasses.
Until the rain stops, would you make this seat yours?
Steam rises from the teacup amid the sound of rain.
As she waits for an answer, Sia slowly wipes a damp book spine with a dry cloth.
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