The poster appeared overnight in a quiet school hallway, its bold headline hovering above bowls of spices and sweets: “You Must Pick One Flavor: Your Answer Reveals What Kind of Person You Are.” Between classes, students slowed their steps to study cinnamon sticks, peppermint candies, cocoa powder, and cranberries. What was meant to be a lighthearted winter-festival quiz softened the space, warming the corridor with curiosity and laughter.
Debates broke out—playful, earnest, welcoming. Teachers joined in too, defending why vanilla felt right or why star anise matched their mood. Maya, usually unnoticed, stopped to look. She’d felt invisible all week, but the flavors felt like invitations. Cinnamon was cozy, peppermint bright, cocoa comforting, maple sugar gentle. Then her eyes landed on orange and clove, and she thought of winter evenings at her grandmother’s stove, fruit and spices simmering into something hopeful.
She wrote her name beneath Orange + Clove without overthinking it. Later, when the art teacher asked students to create a “Flavor Personality Wall” for the festival, Maya hesitated—then added a note: “Orange + Clove: Warm, hopeful, quietly strong.” Others paused to read it. A few nodded.
Someone nearby smiled and said, “I picked cinnamon because it feels like home too.” A small conversation began. By festival day, the hallway had transformed into a collage of colors, words, and shared memories. The poster hadn’t revealed who anyone was—it had simply given them a way to show it. And Maya learned that sometimes, the smallest invitations can open doors to connection, confidence, and kindness.