Gemotions

He stared at the email on his phone. The notification came from Ms. Davies, who lived just past the oak tree. She was asking if she might cultivate a small flower bed. He knew his response. He knew the garden was a mess.

The thought of someone else tending that space, of vibrant colors blooming where there was only neglect now... it stirred a deep ache. He felt the familiar pressure behind his eyes, a tightening in his chest. A reluctant agreement formed on his lips.

He watched from the window as she sketched out her plans. He didn't want to engage, didn't want the reminder. Turning away, he returned to the silence.