Gemotions

He watched Mrs. Chen through the kitchen window, her small frame bent over a seed catalog. An insistent voice in his head urged him to refuse. He'd put in so much work on the backyard, the meticulous planning, the perfectly spaced rows of tomato plants. He'd imagined the yard as his oasis, his own private Eden.

He crossed his arms. The breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient oak tree in his backyard, a sound that usually calmed him, but now only seemed to amplify the internal resistance he felt.

Later, Mrs. Chen knocked, holding a plate of steaming dumplings. "Just a small patch, Mr. Henderson," she pleaded, her eyes filled with gentle sincerity. He stared at the dumplings, the savory aroma filling the air. He thought of his quiet evenings in the yard, undisturbed. "I'll think about it," he finally mumbled, his voice gravelly.