The Garden Left Behind

The house Is quiet.

Not the kind of quiet I'm used to, the uneven kind, where sound slips past one ear and fades before I can catch It. This Is different. This quiet presses in from all sides, like It knows something Is missing. I stand at the doorway longer than I need to. My hand rests against the cold frame, the wood is cool, solid. Real. Unlike everything else.

". . . I'm home."

The words leave my mouth, but I dont hear them properly. I never do, not fully. They come back to me distorted, thinner than they should be. I tilt my head slightly out of habit, turning my right ear toward a voice that isn't there.

No answer.

Of course. I step inside anyway.

The floor creaks under my weight, or atleast I think It does. I feel it more than I hear It, a faint vibration travelling up through my shoes. I've learned to trust that feeling. It's more reliable than sound.

The air smells the same. Tea leaves and old paper. Something faintly floral.

Mother

My chest tightens, but nothing comes out of it. Not tears. Not anymore. I suppose I've already used them all up. Instead I move. Past the chair she always sat in. Past the table with the slight ring from her teacup still marking the surface. Past the shelves lined with books she insisted on organizing even when she was too tired to stand properly. My fingers brush against their spines.

Some of them still have her labels, Small and neatly written.

I swallow

The back door sticks when I try to open It. It always did. She used to tell me to pull it slightly toward me before pushing. I do that now. It works.

Of course it does.

The garden greets me all at once. Not with sound, but with movement. Leaves shifting, petals trembling, light catching on rough edges. It's messy. Overgrown. Alive in a way the house Isn't.

I step onto the stone path, what little of It I can see through the weeds. My shoes skim against something soft. I look down. Fallen petals, already turning back into soil.

"You didnt wait," I murmur.

Or maybe, I did

I kneel beside a cluster of flowers I recognize. Mother used to trim these carefully, Tend to it affectionately, nurture It tenderly. Always making sure they had just enough space to breathe and thrive. Now they lean into eachother, hunched over and tangled.

I reach out with my calloused fingers, lifting one gently and delicately between my fingers. The petal is more threadlike than I remember. Fragile. Like it might disappear If I hold It just even a little bit more tighter. "I don't know how to take care of you," I admit. My voice feels unnecessary here. The garden doesn't need it.

Something shifts. Not a sound. Just. . . a feeling. I stay frozen. Then cautiously, I whirl around.

It's stationed a little apart from everything else. I'm sure It wasn't there before. Or maybe it was and I just never noticed.

A single plant. Upright. Untouched by the catastrophy surrounding It. It's leave are darker than the others, almost glossy, capturing the light in a way that feels intentional. And at the center . . . A bud. Closed tight. Waiting.

I frown, pushing myself up slightly to get closer. ". . . What are you?" No answer. Not that I expect one.

The closer i get, the more everything else seems to fade. Not visually but something in the air feels. . . motionless. Like the garden is holding its breath with me.

I breath in deeply with somnolence.

Steadily, I crouch in front of it. Slowly and axiously, I reach out. Then hesitate.

" . . . You're warm."

The moment my fingers graze the surface, I pull back instinctively, My back straightening. Thats not right. Plants aren't warm like that. Not like skin. Not like something alive in the way I understand It.

I stare at it for a while. It doesn't move. Then something brushes against me. Not my skin. Not my ears. Somewhere deeper. I inhale sharply, reflexively turning my head so my right ear faces it, but nothing changes because It Isn't coming from there.

"Hello. . .?" The words feels strange as it leaves me. Unnecessary.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then abruptly, the bud trembles. Just ever so slightly.

I freeze, watching.

My heart starts beating faster. I don't know why.

Tardily . . . meticulously . . . I reach out again. However, this time, I don't pull away.

And for the first time since I stepped into this house.

I don't feel alone.

Chapter 2: Soil And Silence

Morning comes quietly.

Not because it's silent but because I don't notice It at first.

Light reaches me before anything else. It slips through the curtains, soft and pale, pressing gently against my eyelids until I open them.

For a moment, I don't remember where I am. That happens sometimes. Just for a few seconds. A blank space like a page I forgot to write on. Then it comes back. The house. The Garden. Her.

I gradually sit up, pressing my fingers against my temple out of habit. The dull ache Is faint today. It usually Is In the mornings. It gets worse later. I don't think about why though.

The house feels the same as last night. Still. Waiting.

I don't bother making breakfast. Instead, I step outside.

The garden looks different in daylight. Less mysterious. More. . . honest. The overgrowth is clearer now. Stems tangled together, weeds pushing through spaces they don't belong in. Some flowers have bloomed too early. Others have already begun to wilt. It's alive, just not well.

I tread forward onto the path. What's left of it, and crouch near the nearest clump of desicatted leaves.

The soil Is dry.

Not completely. Just enough to tell me it hasn't been cared for properly. " I guess that's my job now," I murmur, gazing upon the sky. The words feel strange. Not because I hear them wrong but because they sound like something she would of said.

I press my fingers into the sunbaked dirt. It crumbles easily.

Too easily.

"You always said the soil comes first." I pause, frowning slightly. Did she say that? The thought lingers longer than It should. I try to picture It. Her voice, the way she used to explain things but the memory feels . . . incomplete. Like something is missing from the middle.

I know she taught me. I just dont remember how.

I retract my hand back. There's dirt under my nails now. That part feels familiar. "Guess I'll figure It out."

I stand and look around the garden again, slower this time. If I dont know where to start, then I'll start anywhere.

I begin with the dead leaves. They're the easiest. One by one, I pull them away from the stems, dropping them into a small pile beside me. The motions come naturally, even when my thoughts don't.

Trim, clear, make space. My hands remember what my mind doesn't.

Time passes, I'm not bothered to measure it.

At some point, I notice I've been turning my head more than usual, Angling my right ear towards small movements. leaves brushing together. Something shifting behind me. I dont hear most of it, But I expect to.

It's a habit I can't break, Even when theres nothing to listen for.

I straighten slightly, tapping my hand against my neck.

There's a faint scar there. I trace It without thinking. I don't remember when I got it. I know how. But not . . . clearly. There's an Image. Blurred, shards of something on the floor. A voice, loud, sharp, overlapping with another, Then nothing.

I drop my hand, shuddering marginally. The memory slips away as swiftly as It came, like It was never mine to hold onto. ". . . It doesnt matter."

I say it out loud this time.

To make It real.

The garden doesn't answer, But It doesn't feel vacuous either.

I glance toward the far side, toward the strange flower. It's exactly where I left it but something about It feels oddly . . . oddly aware.

I approach It slowly and carefully. Like I might interrupt something If I move too fast.

The bud is still shut tightly, looking as unsympathetic as ever. But the colour seems to be more concentrated. Faint streaks scampering along its surface, almost like veins beneath skin.

I hesitate for a bit before kneeling. "You're still warm, aren't you?" I don't expect an answer. But when I reach out this time. I don't pull back.

The warmth is there. Subtle, steady and again. . . that feeling. Not a sound. Not a voice. But something brushing against me from the inside.

I inhale sharply, my body reacting before I understand why. "What are you?"

The question feels heavier now. Less curious.

More important.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then the bud shifts. Not fully.

Just responding.

My fingers clench minorly around the stem. I don't even realize I'm doing It.

"Are you alive?" The words come out softer this time. Heedful. The garden feels still again. Like it's listening. Then the sensation comes back. Stronger.

Not words, but meaning. Something warm. Familiar.

A constricting feeling find It's way into my chest. "I know this," I whisper. "I've felt this before." But I cant remember where.

I pull my hand back slowly. My heart is beating too fast now. "You're just a flower." I tell it. I tell myself.

But even as I say it. I know that isn't true. I glance around the garden again. At the intertwined stems. The uneven blooms. The quiet life continuing without permission. "Fine."

I exhale steadily before reaching for the watering can left sitting on the cracked steps. It's lighter than I expect.

"If your going to be strange. . ." I stride back toward the plant, elevating the can slightly.

"Then I'll take care of you anyway."

The water splatters lightly into the soil at It's base. The earth darkens, drinking In the liquid appreciatively. For a while, nothing changes.

Unexpectedly, the warmth deepens. Not in the plant.

In me.

I freeze. " What was that?" No reply, but I don't move away. Because for the first time since I came back, something feels like It's reaching towards me.

And I don't want to lose it.

Even If I don't understand it yet.

Chapter 3: An Unwanted Visit

I was caught up in my thought so I didn't notice her at first.

I'm crouched near the edge of the garden, plucking away the last few dead leaves. The soil seems better today, darker where I watered it yesterday, a bit uneven but thats alright. Or maybe that's just me.

"Paeonia."

I halt.

Their voice. . . I recognise the shape of it. I turn automatically, tilting my head so my right ear is towards the voice. And there, Mika stood just beyond the gate. I was simply gawking at her. "You're really here," she mumbles. Her arms are crossed, eyes fixed on me. She looks like she's been standing there for a while now, just observing me.

"You didnt have to come." My voice comes out quieter than I meant it to.

She exhales, stepping inside without waiting for permission. "I know."

The gate clicks behind her and the resonant footsteps follow, although I feel it more than I hear it.

For a while, neither of us says anything. Mika glances around the garden lesiurely, her expression shifting in small ways she probably thinks I won't notice.

"It's in worse condition that I thought," she mutters.

"I just started yesterday."

"I can definitely tell, Paeonia"

I dont respond to that, instead I go back to what I was doing. Tugging away another dead stem, dropping it into the pile beside me. Mika watches for a few seconds before opening her mouth.

"You didn't answer your phone."

"I know."

"You didn't reply to my messages."

"I know."

Her tone sharpens.

"Then why didn't you-"

"I said I know," I state, interrupting her.

The words come out firmer this time. I don't look her way.

Silence settles in between us again, thicker this time.

". . . You just disappeared," Mika announces finally. Softer, not accusing. Just tired.

I pause, my fingers still wrapped around a brittle leaf. "I didn't disappear," I declare. "I'm here."

"Thats not what I meant,"

I know, I just don't have a better answer.

She inches closer, her white sneaker brushing against the overgrown path. "You didn't come back to school. You didn't tell anyone anything, you just-"

She stops, exhaling intensely. "And then I hear you're living here alone?" I shrug slightly.

"She left you this house, not a grave!" Mika exclaims with a sudden outburst.

That makes me look up.

Her expression shifts immediately. She didn't meant to say it like that, I can see it. "I'm taking care of it," I say nonchalantly.

"By hiding in it?"

I flinch just by a bit, but enough that she notices. "I'm not hiding."

"You're not living either."

The words land harder than they should, or maybe exactly as hard as they're meant to. I look away from her. Towards the far side of the garden, towards the flower. It's still there, still quiet, still . . . watching.

". . . I like it here," I whisper.

Mika follows my gaze, but she doesn't understand what I'm looking at. Of course, because all she can really see is overgrowth and neglect. "You always liked quiet," she says "But this isn't that."

I don't answer because I'm in a loss of words, not really knowing how to explain it. That this quiet isn't empty, that it doesnt demand anything from me and just doesn't slip pass me like running water.

"That's not normal, Paeonia."

I let out a small breath. "Maybe I don't want normal."

Mika steps closer again, close enough that I can see her clearly without trying. "That's not what this is," she replies. "This isn't you choosing something different, this is you running away"

"I'm not running."

"Then what are you doing?"

I open my mouth, then pause because I don't have an answer. The silence stretches.

". . . You cant stay here forever," Mika responds.

I don't stop averting my gaze away from her. "I'm not planning that far ahead."

"Thats exactly the problem." Her voice cracks slightly.

"I'm worried about you," she adds, quieter now.

I grip the edge of my sleeve rigidly without thinking. ". . . You don't have to be."

"I know I don't have to be," she snaps, "but I want to be"

That makes something in my chest tighten, I hate that.

". . . I'm fine." I tell.

"You're not."

"I am."

"You're not"

"I said I am, what do you not understand?"

My voice rises moderately.

Mika goes frigid. For a moment, we both don't move. Then she exhales heavily, running a hand through her hair. "Fine, If this is what you want," she says, stamping back toward the gate, "then I won't force you."

Relief fills me, but like a side effect of a bitter medicine, something uncomfortable also forces itself in me.

"But don't pretend this is healthy,"she adds. "And don't expect people to just wait forever."

That one stays.

She unlocks the gate. "I'll come back" she murmurs, without turning around.

The gate shuts behind her, now the garden feels different again. Not empty, simply quieter in a heavier way.

I sit there for a while, abscent.

Then casually, I turn my head facing the flower. ". . .You didn't like that either, did you?"

I don't know why I blurt that out but when I reach out, the geniality of warmth is there again.

Unquestionably stronger.

I rested my eyes for just a moment. "At least you stayed." the statement coming out gentler than I expect. And this time, I'm not sure if I'm talking to the plant, or to myself.

Chapter 4: The Man Who Notices

I try go back to what I was doing, clearing space and fixing something I quite don't fully understand. But my hands don't move the same way.

Her words keep repeating. You're not living.

I dig my fingers into the soil harder than I need to. "I am," I muttur.

The dirt shifts shimmy under my touch, soft and alive. "This counts."

The words don't sound convincing, even to me.

I sigh and push myself up sluggishly, brushing the dirt from my hands. My head aches faintly now, it always does after conversations like that. Too much focus, too much trying to follow every word before it disappears.

I turn my head rapidly at the sound of rustling paper. In the corner of my eyes, I see someone standing there right outside the garden. I didn't hear him arrive.

He's near the rusted fence, half shadowed by the overgrown branches towering over him, like he hasn't decided whether he's part of the space or not.

For a second, I don't move. Neither does he.

"Can I help you?" My voice comes out more guarded then I intended it to be.

He doesn't reply immediately. Instead, his gaze shifts past me. Towards the flower.

And once again, this feeling of tightness in my chest all comes rushing back in. No matter how much I try to flush it all out, it just doesn't.

"You shouldn't touch that."

I blink. "What?"

His voice is quiet and steady, clear enough that I don't have to turn fully to grasp it.

"That plant," he begins, stepping a foot closer to the fence. "It's not something you should handle carelessly."

I frown. "It's in my garden."

"Yes," he responds. "And that's exactly why it matters."

That doesn't make sense. "It's just a plant though?"

He stares at me, not in a dismissive way, nor amused.

"No," he says. "It isn't"

A deafening silence starts seeping in between us.

I don't like how easily he said that, like I'm the one who doesn't understand something that is supposed to be painfully obvious.

"Do you always gawk at people's gardens?" I ask.

A pause.

"Only when something unusual is growing in them."

I cross my arms slightly. "That's not an answer."

"Well, thats the best one I have."

That should be irritating. It is, a little, but not enough.

Because he hasn't looked away from the flower, not once. "What is it?" I ask.

He hesitates. "I don't know what you would call it," he answers finally.

That's not reassuring. "You're the one telling me not to touch it," I reply. "So you must know something I don't."

"I know enough," he says. "Not everything."

That reply feels . . . honest. Annoyingly so.

I glance back at the plant, the bud is still sealed tight, still quiet.

"It reacts," I say before I can stop myself. His gaze intensifies.

"To you?" he asks. I hesitate

"I don't know." Thats a lie, but I dont know how to explain the truth.

He studies me for a moment longer, not just looking blatantly but with an observing look that makes me uncomfortable. Then, he saunters away from the gate. "Be careful with it," he says.

"That's it?" I ask. You're just going to show up, say something cryptic and leave?

Another faint pause.

". . . Would you prefer I stay?"

The question catches me off guard.

I dont answer right away, partially because I don't know what to reply with.

He watches me In a way that feels wrong, aniticipating what i'm going to say next.

The gaze, it feels different. From Mika, from anyone infact. "If you know something," I swallow. "You should explain it."

"I will," he replies. "Eventually."

"That's not helpful."

"No," he agrees. "It isn't."

Another awfully long pause comes between us.

". . . Then why say anything at all?"

His stare shifts back to the flower one last time. "Because it's already started," he answers in a low voice. An indefinite chill washes over me like an erratic wave. ". . . What has?"

This time, he doesn't respond with anything. Instead, he steps back fully this time, tilting his body as if to leave. "Wait," I call out. He halts. ". . . Whats your name?" There's a brief silence.

"Victor." The name settles oddly.

"Paeonia," I reply.

He nods once, like her expected it.

Obviously he didn't though, that would be ridiculous. "Take care of the garden." Victor states.

"I am." His gaze flicks to the flower once again. ". . . Then take care of yourself too."

He leaves without another word, I don't hear his footsteps but I feel when he's gone.

I stand there for a while, longer than I mean to.

I cautiously turn back around, fixing my eyes back towards the plant.

" . . . You didn't tell me about him."

The words feel strange the moment I say it out loud, I kneel beside it anyway, feeling the familiar and steady warmth that it's emitting. "Victor. . ." I whisper. The name lingers for a bit and fades, but the feeling doesn't.

And for the first time. I'm not sure if the garden if the only thing watching me anymore.

Chapter 5: What Has Started

I don't expect him to come back, maybe it's because people usually don't.

Still, I find myself looking at the fence more often than I should, It's stupid.

I compress my fingers rougher than necessary, loosening the roots around a cluster of overgrown stems. The work is slower today, almost less natural, like my hands are waiting for something. ". . . Focus," I mutter.

The garden doesn't care if I'm distracted, it keeps growing anyway.

The strange flower hasn't changed much, atleast not visibly. The bud is still closed, its surface silky smooth. It's too perfect compared to everything around it, however, the feeling is different.

I don't have to touch it anymore to notice, it's just there, at the edge of everything.

"You're not normal," I say quietly. The words don't feel like an accusation.

I prompt myself closer, kneeling beside it again. The soil here is darker and richer than rest, even though I haven't done anything special to it. "You reacted yesterday." I waver. ". . . Do it again."

Nothing happens.

I breath out softly. "Of course not."

I reach out anyway, my fingers lightly stroking against the bud.

A surge of warmth emits from it the moment I make contact. It happens again, thats feeling. Not a sound, not a voice, but something prodding gently against the inside of my chest. I inhale harshly. "What are you?" I know I asked it that many times now.

The warmth deepens once again, not in the flower but me again.

My fingers tighten slightly. I don't mean to. For a second, everything else fades. The garden, The house and even the weight of my own body. There's just light. . . and a shape, a reminiscence.

The sound of an ambulance was deafening, panicked yells conflicting with eachother.

My body goes rigid, that feeling snaps back again. The garden rushes back all at once. I pull my hand away, breathing raggedly. "No. . ." I press my palm against my temple. The ache is sharper now.

The plant is still unmoving, as if nothing has ever happened. "You did that," I whisper.

I sit back cautiously, staring at it. My heart hasn't slowed down yet.

"That wasn't just me." It couldn't have been.

The memory, or whatever that was, it felt . . . forced.

Like something grasped into me and dragged it to the surface. ". . . Don't do that again." I state firmly. The garden remains placid ,even so, the feeling doesn't disappear completely.

I'm not quite sure what I'm trying to do now, probably trying to steady my breathing, not wanting to think about what I had just visioned.

Then, movement

I don't hear it, but I feel it.

I abruptly snap my head back, Victor is inside the flowerbed this time. Not behind the gate, way nearer.

I stiffen immediately. ". . . You shouldn't just walkin in."

"I knocked."

I blink. ". . . I didnt hear it."

"I know."

That throws me off, how can he says it so simply.

"why are you here?"

His gaze shifts briefly to the flower. Then back to me.

"It's changing," he starts

I scowl, "It looks the same."

"It won't for long."

Something about the way he says that makes my stomach clench.

"You said something started," I speak "What did you mean by that?"

He studies me for a while, his gaze lingering for longer than necessary. "You felt it, didn't you?" I freeze.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's not an answer."

I averted my eyes from him.

". . . It showed me something."

The admission comes out almost inaudible.

Victor doesn't react straight away, yet, something in his expression changes. "What did you see?" He asks.

I shake my head. "Nothing clear." That's not entirely true. "Just pieces."

"Memories?"

". . . Perhaps."

Silence took over us momentarily, speaking volumes.

"That shouldn't happen this early." he mutters.

A chill sends tremors through me.

". . . Early for what?"

He doesn't reply instantly. Rather, he took an additional step forth, not enough to crowd me, just enough that I don't have to strain to follow him. "It's responding to you," he announces.

"I noticed."

"No," He corrects gently. "It's recognizing you."

That doesn't make sense. "We've never met."

Victor's gaze lingers on me for a moment. "That's not entirely true."

I feel my fingernails digging into my palm. "What does that even mean?"

He draws in a deep breath. ". . . I don't think you remember."

I was puzzled. ". . . Remember what?"

Victor diverts his attention to the flower again, then back at me.

"When it blooms,"he explains demurely, "You'll understand."

I dont like that.

"And what happens then. . . ?"

He ceased for a bit. "Then you wont be able to ignore it anymore."

My hands was growing more clammy and sweaty by the moment.

I stare at him, waiting for more, but it doesn't come.

"You're not explaining anything," I say.

"I know."

"then stop talking like you are."

A quietude fell upon us once again.

". . . Alright." He doesnt argue nor does he push.

He just stays.

Thats worse.

"If its connected to me," I begin at a slow pace. "Then I should be the one to decide what happens."

Victor watches me painstakingly. "Yes." He replies.

"Then tell me how to stop it."

Then, for the first time, he hesitates. "You. . . dont."

The answer is quiet and final.

Something in my chest sinks, feeling crestfallen. "So it just happens?"

"Yes"

I grip my sleeve tenaciously. "Thats not fair. . ."

"No." Victor states.

The garden feels different now, more heavier and closer.

I glance at the plant. "Then I'll just take care of it." I mutter.

Victor doesn't respond.

"If its going to happen anyway," I continue, "Then I'll decide what it means.

That feels important, even if I am not fully grasping the situation I'm in.

I really want to ask what will happen but I doubt he'll give a proper answer.

After a moment, Victor nods.

"Alright."

He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't leave either.

And for some reason, that makes the garden feel less uncertain.

Even if nothing about this makes sense yet.

Chapter 6: Recognising The Winter Sun

The cold settles in properly today, I could feel it when I trodded outside the timeworn door, my fingers stroking graciously on the beautiful grain pattern carved into the door.

The air feels thinner than yesterday, it presses lightly against my skin, slipping through the sleeves of my sweater like it's testing how much I'll tolerate.

The garden has changed again, not by a dramatic amount, but enough.

The soil holds moisture longer now, the surface is darker in places, stiff in others. Some of the weaker stems have given up entirely, folding into themseleves like they've decided it's not worth trying until spring.

I understand that.

I squat down near the edge of the path, pulling away a strip of dead growth that comes loose readily. "You're supposed to rest, right?" I murmur.

Winter isn't about fixing things, it's about not making them worse.

A quiet exhalation escaped my lips, wiping dirt off my hands before rising up.

The flower is still there.

I don't go to it immediately this time. Rather, I turn toward the small shed near the back fence. The wooden door is half open, just enought to let the wind nudge it a bit. However, I feel the shift more than I hear it.

Inside, the air smells older. A hint of dry wood, metal and something faintly familiar.

I scan the shelves. Tools are scattered, not neatly arranged like the books inside the house. She must have stopped organising out here first. ". . . You really let this go," I say feebly under my breath.

I reach for a pair of gloves. It feels a stiff and a little worn, but still usable. They're too big, not my size.

I dither, then yank them on anyway.

The frabic is rough against my fingers. For a second, something flickers. A hand guiding mine, adjusting the way I hold something, a stem.

I blink.

The image disappears.

". . . Right."

I flex my hands once after leaving the shed.

The sunlight is a little stronger now. Reflecting off my skin like polished marbles, but enough to cast shadows that feel more real.

"Paeonia?"

I swing around too quickly, almost loosing my balance.

This time, I hear part of it. Haruto stands near the entrance, one hand resting against it like he hasn't decided whether or not to open it yet.

". . . Haruto?"

He lifts his other hand, greeting me. "Good, you're actually here."

"That's a strange thing to say." I affirm.

"You haven't been answering anyone," He replies.

That again. I don't bother responding.

He opens the gate slowly this time, like he's giving me the chance to stop him.

I don't

"I bought something," he says, holding up a small paper bag.

I glance at it, then back at him. "Why?"

He shrugs, stepping fully into the garden. "Because you look like the kind of person who forgets to eat when she's doing this."

I almost say I don't.

". . . Maybe."

He nods like that confirms everything.

Haruto surveys the surrounding as he moves forward, his expression fluctuating in ways more ominous than Mika's did. A look with less judgement and more understanding. "She kept it better than this," he speaks after a minute.

"I know."

"You'll get there."

Again, I dont answer that.

He stops a few steps away from me and holds out the bag. "Bread, it's warm."

I accept it. "Thanks. . ."

That interaction felt quite unfamiliar.

He doesn't make a big deal out of it, just nods once.

His eyes wander to the plant. "That's new."

My grip on the bag tightens. "It's been here."

Haruto tilts his head. "Not when I was last here."

"When was that?" I question.

"A few months before. . ." He stops himself.

I turn away from him. "It's just a plant," I state.

The way I say it felt thin.

Haruto steps closer to it. "It doesn't look like one I know."

"You run a flower shop," I begin, "You're supposed to know them."

He huffs a quiet breath. "I know a lot of flowers, not all of them."

His eyes narrow slightly, studying it. "It feels off."

I shift slightly between him and it without thinking. "It's fine"

Haruto glances at me then at my postion. "You like it."

I hesitate before replying. ". . . I'm taking care of it.

"That's not what I asked." He watches me for a moment longer before letting it go. "Alright," he says simply.

Relief comes faster than I had thought. He steps back, brushing his hands together lightly. "You shouldn't overdo it in this weather." He adds. "Plants rest now, so should you too."

"I'm not a plant."

"No," he agrees. "Which means you're worse at knowing when to stop."

I almost argue. "I don't know. . . maybe."

A smile tugs on his lips, in a way that feels doesn't feel forced. Different from Mika, different from-

I stop that though immediately.

Haruto glances towards the house. "Are you staying here alone?"

". . . Yes."

"That's a lot."

"I'm fine."

He doesn't push it, instead he just gives a simple nod. "If you need anything," he tells, "the shop's still where it's always been."

I nod back. ". . . I know."

He then turns towards the gate. "Try to eat that before it gets cold," he mentions, nodding towards the bag in my hold.

"I will." I say. He leaves without saying another word.

The garden returns to it's normal self. I stand there for a while, then slowly, I walk back to the plant. ". . . You don't like him either." The words come out softer.

I kneel. Not touching it, not yet. "He's normal." That should feel reassuring, but it doesn't.

I then reach out, the steady warmth is still there, but underneath it, something else felt faint. Like a memory I almost understand.

I close my eyes. "What are you trying to show me?"

No answer, I expected that.

But the feeling lingers, and this time, I don't pull away.

Chapter 7: The Space Between Words

I noticed Victor doesn't come the next day.

The garden feels different when I'm the only one in it, however I dismiss that feeling and focus on working. There's more to clear than I expected and winter hasn't exactly stopped with the overgrowth, just slowed it down. like everything is waiting for something else to happen.

I spend most of the morning near the outer edges, avoiding the center, avoiding it.

I realise it when I straighten up and catch myself looking towards the plant without moving any closer. "This is stupid."

I wipe my hands against my sleeves. The gloves are in the shed, I forgot them.

The air is cooler today, slipping under the collar of my sweater. I move around uncomfortably, adjusting without thinking.

At that moment, I turn around instinctively, finding Victor already inside the garden. I don't bother asking him how he got in.

"You didn't knock this time."

"I did."

". . . Oh I didn't hear it, I'm sorry."

"I know."

The way he says it is the same as before, acting all cold and all-knowing.

I briefly focus on him before redirecting my attention away. "you come here an awful lot you know?" I state.

"Not usually."

"Then why now?" I question.

His gaze moves past me. "Because it's progressing."

I sigh, "You keep saying things like that."

"And you keep asking what they mean."

"That's because you don't explain them!" I argue back.

We fell mute.

"That's fair," he says. I almost expect him to leave it there, but he doesnt. "It's reacting more consistently now," he adds.

I glance towards the flower developing flower. "I noticed."

"That's not what I meant."

I glower. ". . . Then what did you mean?" Victor steps closer towards the center. "You're adjusting to it," he says.

The words doesn't sit right with me. "I'm not adjusting to anything."

"You are." I spin around to him fully now. "I don't even know what it is.""No," he agrees. "But you're not rejecting it anymore."

I open my mouth, then close it, repeating that motion for several more times like a fish, wanting to argue back but the words just bubble up in my thoat. He's right. I look away again. "It's not doing anything harmful."

"That's not the same thing." he declares. Instead of answering him, I stroll past him to the flower. This time, I don't hesitate, kneeling beside it and I notice he doesn't stop me. That's different too. ". . . It showed me something yesterday," I begin.

"I know." I glance up at him questioningly. "You weren't here." I state.

"I know," he says. "I didn't need to be." That should bother me more than it does. "It wasn't clear." I continue.

"What you saw won't be." he replies. I rest my hand lightly against the soil next to the bud. "It felt like it wasn't mine."

Victor is quiet for a bit before speaking up again."It is." I shake my head. "No, I mean-" I struggle for the right word. ". . . It felt like something was pulling me out."

"That's closer." I look at him again. "You're saying it is mine, but it's not something I can control."

"Yes."

"That's worse." I mutter. He doesn't disagree. And like that, radio silence comes from both of us. I decided to break the awkwardness, speaking once again. "You said I don't remember something." Victor's gaze adjusts slightly. "Yes."

"What is it?" He doesn't reply immediately and I don't push it, I just wait. The wind flows faintly through the garden, I feel it brush past my sleeve. "If I tell you," He responds finally, "you won't understanding it the way you're supposed to."

I frown. "That doesn't make sense."

"It will later."

"That's not helpful."

"No," he says again. "It isn't."

I let out a quiet breath. "You're fustrating."

"I've been told that." There's something almost dry in the way he says it. ". . . You don't seem suprised by anything." I remark.

"I am."

"You don't act like it."

He focuses on the plant. "I've seen this before."

". . . With other people?"

"Yes."

". . . And they all-"

I stop, not wanting to finish that thought. Victor doesn't either, the silence that follows feels heavier than anything he's said so far. I look down at the plant again as well. "And you just watch it happen?"

"Yes."

I swallow hard. "That's cruel."

"No," he murmurs quietly. "It's honest." I don't like that answer, but I dont say anything about it. I shift slightly, resting my weight back on my heels. "Then why are you still here?"

Victor stares directly at me. "At first?" he says. "Because of the flower." Pausing briefly. "And now?" he trails off, not replying right away. I look at him, waiting for an answer.

"I haven't decided yet," he announces.

I look down at my feet, ". . . That's fine." And I mean it.

We don't talk, we don't need to. The garden holds the space between us without asking for anything else, and for once, I don't feel like I have to fill it.

Chapter 8: Things That Don't Stay

It has been a few days since Victor last visited and during that time I noticed that Mika hasn't come back yet, but I know she will eventually. People like her don't leave things unfinished. I sigh, trying not to think about it too much.

The garden always find ways to keep me busy so my thoughts don't wonder off. And there's always something that needs adjusting, Like the soil that has turned, stems cut back and space cleared where something has grown too far in the wrong direction. It's easier to focus on that.

Nothing has changed much execpt for the fact that I don't go to the center first anymore. Instead, I work my way inward slowly, like I'm giving myself time to decide whether I want to be there.

But by the time I reach it, the light has altered. The plant hasn't opened yet. I crouch beside it, resting my arms lightly on my knees. "You're taking your time." I whisper. I don't answer, nor do I reach out.

"Paeonia." I flinch. This time, I hear it clearly enough that I don't need to turn around, and there she was, Mika stands at the gate again. But she doesn't wait this time. She opens it immediately. "I thought so," she says as she steps inside.

"Thought what?" I ask. "That you'd still be here." Her tone isn't sharp, but it isn't soft either. I straighten my back slowly. "...Where else would I be?" I reply. She doesn't answer that. Rather, her gaze moves across the garden, taking in the changes. It's cleaner now, still not perfect, but definitely better than before. "You've been working," she says. "Yes."

"At least that's something." I can't tell if that's supposed to be a compliment. Mika steps closer, stopping a few feet away from me. "You look different." She mentions. I frown. ". . .I do?" "Yeah." She studies me more carefully. "You appear to be more quieter."

"I was already quiet." I reply."Not like this." I say nothing, not knowing what she meant by that. "You didn't come back," she says after a moment. "To where?" I question. "Anywhere." I glance away. "I didn't need to." Mika exhales sharply. "You can't just cut everything off." "I didn't."

"You did." "I'm not, I'm literally talking to you right now."

"That's not the same." Her voice tenses slightly. "You just stopped answering. You stopped showing up, You just—" She halts, gestures vaguely toward the garden. ". . . decided this was enough."

It feels like there's a knot in my chest. "It is enough." The words come out before I can stop them then Mika goes rigid. For a second, neither of us says anything. "No," she says firmly. "That's not true." I look at her. "You don't get to decide that."

"I don't need to," she replies. "It's obvious." My hands tighten slightly at my sides. "You don't understand." "Then explain it." She states coldly. "It's different here," I say instead. "How?"

I hesitate. "It's just more calmer here." Mika stares at me. "That's your reason?" "It's not just that." "Then what is it?"

I glance toward the plant and Mika follows my gaze this time. Her expression shifts. "What is that?" A faint pressure builds in my chest. "Nothing." "That's not nothing." "It's just a plant." I claim. "You keep saying that like it makes it true."

I stay silent. Mika takes a step closer to it and without thinking, I move too, stopping her. "Don't." The word comes out sharper than I expect. She freezes, then slowly looks at me. "Why?" I don't have really have a good answer except for "It's fragile." Mika frowns. "So are all of them." "That's not the same." I voice softly.

"Then what is?" I hesitate again. "I don't know." Mika studies me for a long moment before saying. "You've changed," The way the words leave her mouth makes my heart ache slightly. ". . .People do that."

"Not this fast." She asserts. A tense quiet lingers between us until she starts speaking again. "Is someone else coming here?" Her question lands with an unexpected weight and I remain quiet for a beat but Mika notices. ". . .There is." She says in an almost inaudible tone. "It's not like that." I mutter.

"I didn't say it was." She declare. Her words carry a different edge now. "Who?" I hesitate. ". . .Victor."

"Victor" She repeats it under her breath like she's testing it. "...And he just shows up here?" "Yes." I reply. "You're okay with that?"

"I don't mind." I say. Mika lets out a quiet, disbelieving breath. "You won't talk to people who've known you for years, but you're fine with some stranger walking into your garden?"

"That's not-" "Then what is it?" She interrupts. I stop, not knowing how to explain the difference. "He doesn't. . . expect anything," I say finally. Mika stares at me. "That's not a good thing." "It is for me."

"No, it's not." She claims. "Yes, it is." I retaliate. Her tone sharpens a little. "You can't just pick relationships that don't require anything from you."

"I'm not—" "You are." She chips in, her words stuns me into silence. Mika exhales slowly, pressing a hand against her forehead. "I'm trying to understand you," she says. I lift my eyes to her. "Then stop trying to fix me." She lowers her hand. "I'm not trying to fix you." "It feels like it."

"Because you're pushing everything away." "I'm not pushing." "Yes, you are." A chill creeps into the air as silence hangs in the space between us. "You're going to regret this," Mika murmurs quietly while softly threading her fingers through her hair. "Regret what?"

"This." She gestures around us. "Choosing this over everything else." I glance at the plant. "...I didn't choose it." The words slip out and Mika catches it immediately. "...What does that mean?"

I freeze. "Nothing." "That didn't sound like nothing."

"I didn't mean it like that." I say, nervously twisting my fingers together. "Then how did you mean it?" Mika watches me for a long moment when I don't answer right away. "Fine." she whispers softly beside me. "If you're going to stay here, then at least don't shut everyone out completely."

She turns toward the gate. "I'll be back, just wait and don't do anything to harm yourself," she says again, letting the gate swing shut behind her.

After a moment, I turn back towards the plant, taking slow steps towards it. "...I didn't choose you." I kneel beside it and just stare, my hand hovering uncertainly above it before I finally reach out, feeling the warmth it's still emitting. I close my eyes. ". . .Did I?"

No answer comes from the garden, yet the feeling clings to me anyway.

Chapter 9: Somewhere Beyond The Gate

The next few days passed in the same slow rhythm the garden seemed to prefer.

Morning frost lingered over the soil until noon, thin and silver beneath the pale January light. By afternoon, the cold softened just enough for me to work without my fingers going numb, and by evening the wind crept back in again through the trees behind the house. The garden had started settling into winter properly. Some flowers had completely given up blooming, their heads bent toward the earth as if sleeping, others held on stubbornly despite the season. I understood those ones less.

I was kneeling near the stone path with a pair of rusted pruning scissors when Victor appeared again. I hadn't heard the gate open but I noticed the slight shift in the air behind me, the awareness of another person standing nearby. "You're holding them wrong."

I looked up over my shoulder. "That's a strange way to greet someone." I speak. Victor stepped closer, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark coat. "You're crushing the stem." I glanced down, he was right. My grip had tightened without me noticing. "It's still attached."

"Barely." There was no criticism in his voice. If anything, he sounded mildly amused, That grated on me more than any insult would have.

I loosened my hand and cut the stem properly this time before setting the scissors aside. "Happy?" I reply curtly. "A little." I narrowed my eyes at him faintly. "You're irritating." I point out. "So I've heard." The corner of my mouth twitched with that response.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. I'd started realizing that about him recently, most people filled quiet moments quickly, as though silence itself made them nervous. Victor never seemed bothered by it, he let conversations breathe instead of dragging them forward.

It should have felt unnatural. Instead, it felt easier than speaking sometimes. I brushed the dirt from my hands and glanced toward the center of the garden. "You were gone longer this time." I mention.

"I had things to do."

"That sounds suspiciously vague."

"It usually is."He replies. I let out a quiet breath through my nose, something almost like a laugh. "Do you ever answer questions normally?" "Occasionally." I reply.

"Should I feel honored?"

"No." That time I actually smiled a little, however it faded quickly when I realized it had happened.

After a brief look in my direction, Victor redirected his focus to the garden itself. His gaze moved carefully over the cleared pathways, the trimmed vines climbing along the fence, the patches of soil I'd turned over during the week. "You've changed the layout." He states. I followed his gaze. "It was overcrowded."

"It suited you before."

I frowned slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You kept everything too close together." The answer came so simply that I couldn't tell if he meant the flowers or me, or maybe both.

I climbed to my feet, dusting away the dirt clinging to my jeans. The cold air bit against my skin immediately. "You talk like an old man sometimes." I say. Victor glanced at me. "I'm not old." He replies. "You sound old." "You sound defensive." He fires back.

"That's because you say strange things and act like they make sense."

"They usually do." I rolled my eyes lightly and started toward the shed to put the pruning scissors away, halfway there I realized Victor hadn't followed. When I turned back, he was standing near the strange flower at the center of the garden, his focus all on the flower. And a faint unease curled beneath my ribs. "You're staring at it again."

"It's growing faster." He says plainly. I paused. "What?"

Victor crouched slightly beside the flower, studying the still closed bloom. "Three days ago the outer petals hadn't formed yet." I stepped closer automatically. "That's impossible." I declare.

"It isn't." I took a proper look down and felt my stomach knot, he was right. The shape of it had changed, the bud no longer looked smooth and sealed tight like before. Thin layers had begun unfolding beneath the surface, dark crimson hidden underneath pale ivory edges.

I hadn't noticed, how had I not noticed? "It shouldn't bloom this early," I murmured. "No," Victor agreed quietly. "It shouldn't." Something about the way he said it made me look at him sharply. "You know what kind of flower it is, don't you?" Victor didn't respond right away, as if weighing his words.

The winter wind floated through the garden, stirring loose strands of my hair across my face. I tucked them back behind my good ear automatically. When he finally spoke, his voice had softened. "I know what it means."

Before I could question any further Victor looked at me again, a subtle change passsing over his face. "You're cold."

"I'm fine,"I reply, the words tumbling out faster than I intended as I wrap my arms around myself against the cold. "You say that constantly." "Because it's usually true." I shift my weight, watching my breath fog faintly in the air instead of looking at him. "It isn't today."

I part my lips to protest but Victor has already taken off his scarf and is holding it out toward me, the fabric still warm from his neck.

I stare at it. "What am I supposed to do with that?" "Wear it." "You'll freeze." I don't reach for it even though my fingers have started to sting. "I'll survive." I tell. "That sounds dramatic." He gives the scarf a small shake in my direction. "It's January."

I hesitated before taking it from him, my fingers brushing his for a split second as I did. The fabric was still warm from his skin, the heat lingering in a way that felt oddly personal. For some reason, that bothered me. I then turned it over in my hands like I wasn't sure what to do with it. "You don't have to look offended about it,"

"I'm not offended." I glanced up at him briefly, then away again. "You look offended." "I'm deciding whether this counts as pity." At that, something faintly amused crossed his expression, just enough to soften it. "You're very suspicious of kindness." The words caught me off guard enough that I looked away, my grip tightening slightly on the scarf. Because he wasn't wrong.

I wrapped the scarf loosely around my neck, more to end the conversation than because I intended to wear it properly, tucking the ends in without much care. It smelled faintly like the winter air and cedarwood and that felt annoyingly comforting. Not long after I found myself focusing on that instead of him.

Victor stood again, straightening his back. "Come with me tomorrow." I blinked. "Where?" "A flower shop." I scowl immediately, the answer doing nothing to clarify things. "Why?" "Because you've spent nearly two weeks talking only to flowers and occasionally me." I shift my weight, feeling a bit defensive now. "I talked to Mika." "You argued with Mika."

"...That still counts." I mumble. Victor tilted his head slightly, actually considering it for a second before replying, "Barely." I exhale through my nose and cross my arms. "And what exactly is supposed to happen at this flower shop?" "You'll leave the garden for a few hours." "That sounds suspiciously like a trap."

"It probably is." The honesty of the answer made me pause, my expression faltering for just a moment as I searched his face. Victor noticed my hesitation and added in a more quieter tone, his voice losing some of its usual edge, "You don't have to stay if you hate it."

I clutch the scarf at my neck a little harder. "...You already decided that I'd say yes." "No," he says flatly. "I decided I'd ask anyway."

The difference rested heavily somewhere inside me, my gaze slips past him to the garden to the sleeping winter flowers and the strange bloom still waiting at the center of it all. Then I sighed softly. "...Fine, but if it's awful, I'm leaving."

Victor nodded once. "That's fair." I narrowed my eyes slightly. "You seem very confident for someone planning to drag me somewhere against my will."

"You're coming willingly." "That feels debatable." I shifted slightly where I stood, tugging the scarf a little higher around my neck. For a second, I expected him to argue again, to push, to insist the way he usually did.

Instead, something in his expression loosened.

And for the first time since I'd met him, Victor laughed. It wasn't loud, just a quiet unguarded sound that slipped out before he could seem to stop it. It caught me off guard enough that I looked up at him properly, searching his face as if to confirm it had actually happened. The sound faded almost as quickly as it came but the trace of it lingered in the slight curve of his mouth, in the way his shoulders had relaxed without him noticing.

Just enough to surprise both of us.