“Still prefer black tea with a spoonful of honey?” William’s voice came gently from across the small wooden table at the old tea house overlooking the Arashiyama mountains.

Evelyn looked up, slightly surprised.

“You remember?”

“Of course,” William offered a faint smile as he handed her the warm ceramic cup.

“It’s hard to forget the little things that make someone smile.”

Evelyn accepted the tea. The rising steam briefly blurred her vision. The tea house was quiet—just the two of them, accompanied by the sound of a stream flowing outside. The scent of aged wood and steeped leaves filled the air, carrying memories she had nearly forgotten.

They sat in...