Genre: Soft fantasy | Wholesome | Found family
Characters:
– Taki, the curious, lonely child with scraped knees and too-big dreams
– K, the quiet, reclusive forest witch with sharp eyes and a softer heart than anyone suspects

The Beginning

Everyone said not to go near the cottage in the woods.

They said the witch would curse your tongue off.
Or trap you in a teacup.
Or worse—ask you to clean.

But Taki was different.

He wasn't scared.
He was lonely.

And on a cold autumn day, with a piece of bread and a question in his hand, he knocked on the crooked wooden door and said,

"Can I have tea with you?"

K blinked at him.
Then, slowly, stepped aside.

"Only if you don't spill it."

The Routine

Every week, Taki came back.

Sometimes with questions, sometimes with nothing but mud on his shoes and stories about birds he saw. Sometimes with pastries he tried to bake and failed.

K never said much. But the teacups never stayed empty.

"Why do you live here all alone?"
"It's quieter."
"Isn't it boring?"
"Not lately."

The Magic

K began to show him spells. Small ones.

– How to calm bees with lavender smoke
– How to find lost socks with moonlight and chalk
– How to grow dandelions from dried seeds and hope

Taki listened with wide eyes and a notebook full of misspellings.

The Gift

One day, Taki arrived with a bottle wrapped in string and moss.

"I made you a potion," he said.
"It might work. Or it might explode. But it's supposed to..."

He fidgeted.

"...make you smile."

K held the bottle like it was made of gold.

Then looked at him and—just barely—smiled.

Taki stared.

"It worked!"

"You didn't even drink it!"
"Didn't need to."

Years later, the townspeople still whisper about the boy who went into the forest and never stopped coming back.

But they no longer fear the witch.

Because every Sunday at sunset, you can hear laughter from the crooked little cottage—

and the clink of two teacups that never go cold.

Scene: "Not in the Recipe"

It starts with K coughing over the tea.

A sharp, ragged sound. He waves it off.

"It's nothing," K rasps.

Taki's eyes widen.

"You're never sick."

K shrugs.

"Even witches get colds."

Taki frowns. Then disappears into the kitchen with determination that smells faintly of chaos.

Potion Mayhem

Fifteen minutes later, K watches from his chair—wrapped in a quilt—as Taki frantically mixes herbs, flower petals, and something glittery into a pot.

"That's not in any spellbook."

"Neither were you," Taki mutters. Then, a beat later—"I think it needs more... sparkle."

K winces.

"That's not—"

POOF.
A cloud of purple dust erupts, leaving both of them coughing and blinking.

K wipes glitter from his lashes.

Taki looks horrified.

"I was trying to make you better, not—decorative."

The Recovery

But then K laughs. Actually laughs—soft, warm, real.

Taki stares.

"...You're smiling."

K nods, pressing a hand to his chest like it aches for a good reason.

"You're ridiculous."

"But are you still sick?"

"Maybe a little. But I think I'll survive your... spell."

Taki sighs in relief. Then climbs into the armchair beside him—curling up so their shoulders bump.

K lets him stay there, glitter and all.

Future Epilogue: "The Cottage's New Witch"

Years pass.

The forest grows. The village changes. The whispers stop.

And Taki—now taller, steadier, with a small constellation of freckles and an entire library of messy notebooks—lives in the same crooked little cottage.

Taki's days are gentle now.

Mornings start with dew on the windows and birdsong tangling through the eaves. He lights a candle on the old windowsill—K's windowsill—and thanks whatever lingering magic still holds the forest together.

The Rituals Continue

He still brews two cups of tea.

Not out of habit, but out of promise.

"For you," he says to the empty seat across the rough wooden table.

The tea never grows cold in that cup.

The Garden

The cottage garden sprawls wilder than ever—mint underfoot, lavender bowing low, tiny white flowers pressing up between stones.

Taki laughs when the wind nudges the gate open for him.

"Are you helping or just showing off?" he teases the breeze.

Somewhere nearby, a bundle of sage ignites on its own.
Taki rolls his eyes fondly.

"Definitely showing off."

The Notebooks

Shelves inside the cottage sag under the weight of Taki's scribbled journals.
Pages stained with rose water and stray teardrops.

In one book, he's written the same line dozens of times:

"Magic is simply wanting something enough to give it a place to live."

He knows who taught him that.
Even if K never quite said it outright.

The Visits

Sometimes, Taki wakes at night to find the lanterns all lit, though he never left the bed.

Sometimes, he swears he feels a hand on his shoulder when he sits too long by the hearth, eyes glassy with old memories.

Sometimes, when he laughs—really laughs, like he did as a child—the cups in the cupboard rattle as if applauding.

A Village Changed

The village doesn't fear the cottage anymore.

They come with baskets of apples, with cuts to be stitched, with hearts needing advice they can't find in prayer.

They leave with charms of rosemary, tiny wax hearts for mending trust, gentle words tucked in scraps of paper.

They call him the kind witch.

Sometimes they still whisper about the first witch.
How he was cold. Mysterious. Feared.

Taki knows better.

He tends the garden each evening, murmuring,

"Look at us. You gave me everything, and now it grows for us both."

The Very End

On the very best nights, when the moon's low and warm and the tea is especially sweet—

Taki sits in the old rocking chair by the hearth.

And for a breath, a heartbeat, a curl of soft, laughing air—

he swears K sits across from him again.

Final Line:

And in that little cottage, tangled with ivy and candlelight,
there are always two cups on the table—

one for the witch who stayed,
and one for the witch who never really left.