Gemotions

He flinched as he saw Mrs. Gable step onto her porch. The setting sun cast long shadows across the neglected grass. It highlighted the unkempt state of the yard. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to hide.

The woman was a master gardener, a source of constant wonder and envy for him. He, on the other hand, had let the yard fall into disrepair, a testament to his own shortcomings.

She was walking towards the fence, a small trowel in her hand. He imagined the way his side looked to her, a wasteland compared to her cultivated paradise.

"Good evening, Mr. Johnson," she said, her voice polite. "I was thinking about planting some lavender along the fence. Would you mind if I perhaps…" He interrupted her, his voice hoarse. "Sure, whatever you need." He turned away abruptly, unable to meet her gaze.