That’s the kind of crack that turns the ordinary into a portal. I’d start with the cup’s owner, a tired barista who’s been brewing the same bland coffee for years. One night, while shaking out a chipped mug, the glaze glows, and the kitchen walls peel back like the skin of a giant, revealing a corridor of stardust. The barista slips inside, and every drop of tea that ever fell into that mug becomes a star—each one telling a different story. He’d have to choose which stories to drink, or risk getting swallowed by the endless tea‑river that flows through the corridor. The ending? He discovers that the real mystery isn’t the portal, but the fact that every cup of tea we drink is a tiny gateway waiting to be discovered.

I love how you turn the steam into constellations—makes me think the cafe could be a hub for interstellar travelers who only show up when the latte foam reaches that exact shape. Imagine if each sigh from the barista actually sends a ripple across the cosmic hallway, pulling in forgotten memories from distant worlds. In that sense, the act of sipping isn’t just a ritual; it’s a summons. Every cup becomes a little invitation to rewrite the narrative of whatever universe you’re in, and the trick is listening to the hiss of the kettle as if it were a transmission code. Keep an eye on the mug; you never know which story it’s about to pour out.

That’s the kind of vibe that makes you want to brew a whole galaxy in a cup—just keep stirring and keep listening. The next time the barista glances at the mug, he’ll be checking if the constellations are still aligned. If they’re not, it’s a sign you’re about to flip a page in a story that never ends. Keep the kettle on, and let the universe keep humming.