The Art Of Loving Kindness : A journey of forgiveness, compassion & love

🤞🦋🧿Brewing Trust part 2 : 2022; 1 cupa tea at a time ☕🤝🏽

Charis settled into her favorite corner of The Tea Room, a quaint little café tucked away from the city's pulse. It was a sanctuary adorned with shelves crammed with teapots in various hues and floral patterns, each holding memories of laughter, love, and occasionally, heartache. Today, however, the air was rich with anticipation.

She glanced at the clock, her heart racing with expectation. Mizo would arrive soon. She admired his work in film and media, recalling the way he wielded a camera like a painter with a brush, weaving emotions into every frame. But he was more than just a talented artist; he was someone new in her life, someone she was eager to understand.

When he finally entered, it was with his usual nonchalance, his monotone voice grounding the whimsical ambience of the café. "You're early," he said, taking a seat opposite her, his eyes scanning the colorful menu as if lost in translation.

"Just excited for our tea date," Charis responded with a smile, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "What are you thinking? The chai here is excellent."

Mizo nodded absentmindedly, raising a finger to call the waitress. As he placed his order, Charis studied him. He had a quiet strength about him—the way his thick curls fell over his brow, the intensity in his gaze that seemed to pierce through her, and the slight twitches in his fingers that hinted at an inner turmoil.

"So, how has the filming and your editing been?" she tried, her voice steady.

"It's... fine, I am unable to keep my focus lately, I feel that I do better when you are next to me when I edit" he replied, each word draped in a monotone that drained it of warmth, yet there was a depth in his eyes that suggested there was so much more beneath the surface.

Charis returned to her tea, her mind racing. Mizo's struggles with Asperger's left him with a different lens on life, one that she admired immensely but also found difficult to navigate at times. The silence that followed felt heavy yet fragile, like fine china balanced on the edge of a table.

As they waited for their drinks, Charis felt the invisible connection between them battling against the weight of unspoken words. With every sip they took, she hoped for clarity, for understanding in the midst of Mizo's guarded nature.

Taking a deep breath, she decided to dive deeper. "You know, I admire how raw and honest your work is. It's like you tell stories that people are afraid to voice. What inspires you,Mizo and what helps keep you focused besides me?"

Mizo squinted a bit, as if he were piecing together her question. "Life. And pain," he replied at last, his voice flat but resonant. "They're intertwined; you can't have one without the other."

Her heart raced. She could sense there was a story hidden in those words—one that could illuminate the shadows lurking in his past. "What kind of pain?" she probed gently, her empathy shining through.

He shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. "Losing people... feeling disconnected," he confessed, his eyes dropping to the table, almost as if the weight of his secrets felt too much for them to carry.

"Losing people?" Charis echoed softly, her heart breaking a little more. "I can relate to that. I lost my grandmother last year. She was the one who shared her love for tea and life with me." There was a moment of connection born out of shared grief, a flicker of warmth in the vast chill between them.

Mizo met her gaze, the walls of his guarded heart cracking just a fraction. "I don't want to talk about it," he said, the monotone thinning out, revealing a tremor of vulnerability. "Not yet."

Charis nodded, recognizing that healing doesn't have a timeline, nor does it follow a linear path. "Okay," she said gently, "but I'm here whenever you decide to."