It was she who reminded him to dream.

They named her Omi Sukari Kayin.

And she was something from the other world.

Zere considered her face a perfect sculpture, and her natural headdress of silky twists a wonderland waterfall. On occasion, she collected the full afro crown in bunches of interesting patterns.
Sometimes she freed it in full glory.

Her brown skin, slightly darker than his own, glowed, solar kissed. She was art to him. Butterfly totems followed her where she walked and the perfume of her breath was an ambrosia of berries,
vanilla, and cucumber. He reveled in it when he got close enough to ask her
what the specials were on any given day.

Zere’s appreciation was obvious, though. Omi caught him watching her often, and finally looked him boldly in the eye one daring day, approaching the line where he waited for his order.

“Don’t be frightened of me. I like dreamers.”

She smiled a dazzling smile and quickly returned to her work in the back of the shop. Zere managed a tongue-tied nod, later coming back to ask her if she’d like to go for a walk with him. In
response, she placed a cleaning rag in his hands. So he cleaned beside her and
tidied up where tidying was necessary, every day helping her with the chores
her father gave her.

He returned the next week to do this, and in return, she taught him about the herbs and vegetables in her mother’s garden. He watched her prepare oils that sat in wait for the day she would sift them
out of the oil and pour the liquid into labeled bottles.