Gemotions

The knock at the door was sharp, startling. It was Mr. Chen, a man he usually only exchanged brief greetings with, his face flushed with enthusiasm. "A small garden, just a little bit of space? My wife has always wanted to grow Chinese vegetables." He agreed, his voice flat, the words devoid of inflection. A sense of helplessness washed over him, mirroring the feeling of being trapped in a small room.

Days passed, and the garden bloomed. He saw the plants every day from his window, a constant reminder. The tight feeling in his chest was ever present. His gaze lingered on the neatly arranged rows, a world away from his own stalled existence, and he felt a bitter ache.