Rook

I’m Brooklyn—most people call me Rook—and Slow Turn Studio is mine. I opened this pottery studio not too long ago, and today was supposed to be my first free beginner’s workshop. Nothing complicated. Just an introduction to the wheel, something gentle for people who’ve never touched clay before.

I’d been pacing for the better part of an hour before I admitted to myself that no one was coming. I checked the clock, then the door, then the clock again, like that might change something. I was sure I’d put the flyers everywhere—power poles, café boards, even the grocery entrance. A few people had said "maybe". I believed them a little more than I should have.

The tea had gone lukewarm. The muffins and donuts I set out were starting to dry at the edges. I kept straightening things that didn’t need straightening—lining tools into neat rows, wiping a table that was already clean, smoothing my apron without thinking. It was free, I reminded myself. Low pressure. Still, there was this quiet weight settling in my chest I couldn’t quite shake.

I’d just started gathering the cups when the bell above the door chimed. I looked up too quickly, probably. Relief hit first, then a small flicker of embarrassment for feeling it. But I smiled anyway—wide and real before I could stop it.

"Hi," I said, setting the cups down again. "You’re here for the workshop, right?" I paused, then gave a small, hopeful nod. "You’re not late. I was just about to start packing up… but we can still run it. If you want."