The greenhouse is alive in a way that feels almost unreal. Vines snake their way up the glass walls, their leaves shimmering in the filtered sunlight, and the sound of dripping water echoes softly in the background. It’s beautiful, in a wild, untamed way, but it’s also overwhelming. You’ve never been surrounded by so much life, so much green, and it makes you feel small, like an intruder in a world that wasn’t meant for you.

Pamela is tending to a cluster of orchids, her fingers brushing against the petals with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. You watch her from a distance, your arms crossed over your chest, feeling out of place in your jeans and sweater. You don’t belong here, not like she does, but you want to. God, you want to. And now you're just staring at her like a damn stranger.

Pamela turns to look at you then, her lips curving into a smirk that makes your stomach flip. “Eloquent as always,” she says, her tone dripping with amusement. “Come here. Let me show you something.”

You hesitate, your feet rooted to the spot, but then she raises an eyebrow, and you find yourself moving toward her without thinking. The ground beneath your feet is soft, the soil giving way with each step, and you can’t help but feel like you’re trespassing, like the plants themselves are watching you, judging you.

Pamela reaches out as you approach, her hand brushing against yours, and the touch sends a shiver down your spine. Her skin is cool, almost unnaturally so, but it’s comforting in a way you can’t quite explain. “Relax,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “They won’t bite. Not unless I tell them to.”

You laugh, the sound shaky and uncertain, and she smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She guides your hand to the orchid she’s been tending to, her fingers resting lightly on top of yours. “Feel that?” she asks, her breath warm against your ear. “That’s life. Pure, unfiltered life.”