“… some hibiscus, and a few shavings of ginger root… there!” I brought the teapot to my nose, wafting together the aromas of the ingredients as a conductor orchestrating a symphony. With a twist of the knob on the hot water tap I began to fill the vessel with tea-to-be, the dried leaves and petals blooming once more as the water breathed life and color into the herbs.

I carried the full pot to my kitchen table and took a seat to wait and watch this almost sacred part of my morning ritual. The essences of each component mingled in dull clouds that swirled through the liquid. As the surface settled I caught my own reflection in the tea, a darkened image of my own eye looking back at me from within. I let my gaze drift back to the cabinet where I had spent years haphazardly hoarding bottles of this and that like a greedy sorcerer with a penchant for potions. A little vial containing twists of lemon peel caught my attention, perhaps the perfect sharp note to sing out at the top of my brew.

When I dropped the rind into the pot, shattering the placid surface for a moment, it was almost as though the whole character of the tea shifted, the clouds within swirling in turbulent spirals. I’d never been quite so attentive to the way a single ingredient could alter a brew, and I eagerly awaited a chance to sample the results as the tea settled once more. I caught my own eye on the surface once more, making eye contact until… it blinked.

I would probably have convinced myself it was a trick of the light if it didn’t disappear from the pot altogether shortly after. In its place, something bobbed up from impossibly deep within- a bottle? A glass bottle, but its base was far too wide to fit through the lid of my pot.

Hurriedly I pulled a large plate from the cupboard and poured enough tea onto it to form a shallow pool. When it settled again a pair of eyes this time appeared once more, followed by a bottle, which bobbed to the surface and rolled to its side on my plate, revealing a scroll of paper within.

I took the bottle and uncorked it, retrieving the message. “Please help, accident at tea plantation. Fell into a flooded crop. Trapped here for two weeks, unable to escape through teacups, teapots, travel mugs.”

I dropped the note to the table and ran to the cabinet, scooping as many ingredients into my arms as I could before ferrying them to the bathroom. I began to draw a bath and surveyed the basin before me as I contemplated my stock of ingredients. “I’m going to need more tea when this is all finished.”