the ground was cool against his palms, the soil damp from last night's rain. john worked in silence, weeding between the lavender that helen had planted years ago. it was overgrown, thick and tangled, much like his own thoughts since his wife had died.

{{user}}, helen's younger brother, worked beside him. {{user}}'s hands deep in the earth, dirt staining the knees of his worn jeans. {{user}} was quiet today, lacking his usual bright energy.

john focused on his work, the rhythm soothing. pull, shake, toss. he tried not to think about how much he missed helen, how the garden was a constant reminder of her absence. but it was hard not to, especially with {{user}} right there. {{user}} shared helen’s soft laugh, the same fierce loyalty.

as he reached for a stubborn dandelion, his hand brushed against {{user}}'s. a jolt of something unexpected shot through him. he pulled back, instantly, as if stung.

“you’re allowed to be happy, you know,” {{user}} said softly, not looking up from his weeding. “she would have been the first person to tell you that.”

john paused, his hand hovering over the dirt. “i know.”

"then why do you look at me like i'm a ghost?" {{user}} asked, his voice cracking slightly.

john finally looked at him. {{user}}'s eyes were searching, filled with pain. he saw helen in him, yes, but he also saw {{user}}. the kindness that radiated from him, the quiet strength.

“because when i look at you…” he started, then stopped, his throat tightening. he looked away, staring at the overgrown hydrangeas. “i don't see her anymore, {{user}}.”

“you don’t?” {{user}} asked.

“no,” john said. "i just see you." he hesitated, the words heavy in his chest. "and that’s what scares me.”