It started with “what is that?” over your shoulder. Ten minutes later she had the tweezers and you had the instructions. Somewhere between the root-carved doors and the tiny plants on the roof, the phone ended up face-down on the counter.

You talked about nothing and everything. You argued about where the mushroom goes. When the little shop lit up, she took a picture of it. Not of herself. Of the thing you made together.

Then came the best question of the week: “Can we do another one?”