𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘, 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘| Miguel Diaz [COMPLETED]

𝒍𝒙𝒙𝒙. the end

chapter seventy:
❛ the end ❜

PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!!!!!
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PLEASE STOP BEING FREAKIN A GHOST READER!!! PLEASE VOTE! PLEASE!!!!! stop being ghost readers!!!! its really annoying!!!

STOP BEING A GHOST READER AND JUST VOTE!! THIS IS VERY ANNOYING!!!!! IM SORRY FOR ALL THE NOTIFICATIONS!! PLEASE VOTE ESPECIALLY ON THIS LAST CHAPTER

the reason i keep unpublishing and republishing is chapters is because when i see views go up and votes aren't... its really annoying. cause its not hard to vote and show support on fanfics.

can you guys please stop being ghost reader and just freaking vote please. this is so annoying

THIS IS VERY ANNOYING TO SEE VIEWS GO UP BUT NOT VOTES. its annoying for us writers. so please just vote and comment!! its not that hard!!!!!!

STOP BEING A GHOST READER!!
im so sorry for all the notifications but please stop being a ghost reader!!!! i dont how many times i have to say this. i am so sorry for the notifications but this is really annoying to see views go up when the votes aren't. PLEASE JUST FREAKIN VOTE!!!

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The tea house was tucked away, surrounded by a lush garden of carefully pruned bonsai trees and winding stone paths. Sunlight filtered through the branches, casting dappled shadows on the tatami mats inside. The sliding shoji doors were open just enough to let in a breeze, the scent of green tea mingling with the fresh, earthy air. It was serene, peaceful - the kind of setting that begged for stillness.

But Arizona and Sam? They were anything but still.

Arizona shifted uncomfortably on the tatami mat, her legs awkwardly folded beneath her. The mat's woven straw texture pressed into her ankles, making her fidget every few minutes. She wasn't used to this - the rigid formality, the deliberate slowness of it all. Every time she adjusted her position, the tiniest creak of the floor threatened to echo through the quiet space.

Sam, seated beside her, wasn't faring much better. Her brows were furrowed in determination, but Arizona caught the subtle twitch of her foot, the tell-tale sign of someone desperately resisting the urge to tap it.

The tea ceremony host, an older woman dressed in a pale blue kimono with delicate white blossoms embroidered along the hem, knelt gracefully at the front of the room. Every movement she made was like water flowing - intentional, precise. With practiced elegance, she carefully arranged the lacquered tea bowls and bamboo whisks, the soft clinking of ceramic the only sound breaking the stillness.