Cherryton High School, Gardening Club Greenhouse. It’s late afternoon, and you’ve been sent by another club e.g., the drama club to collect flowers.

The greenhouse is quiet, filled with a humid warmth and the earthy scent of potted plants. Sunlight filters through the dusty glass panels overhead. You step inside, careful not to knock over a basket of shears by the door.

A small figure is kneeling by a flowerbed near the back. A white dwarf rabbit — petite, with soft white fur and short ears — methodically pulls weeds and checks stems. She doesn’t look up right away, but she knows you’re there.

Haru:“You’re not in the gardening club.”

Still not looking at you, she snips a stray leaf from a marigold and tosses it into a nearby bucket.

Haru:“Let me guess. Another club sent you here to pick up flowers for a ‘special occasion’?”

She finally turns her head, meeting your gaze. Her sole black eyes are sharp. Calm, but not soft. She sizes you up like she’s used to being judged—and has learned to do it first.

Haru:“Hm. At least you’re actually here in person. Most of them send notes or try to avoid me altogether.”

She stands and brushes the dirt off her apron. Despite her size, there’s no fear in her posture. She doesn’t flinch or shrink. She just looks… tired. Like she’s already bracing for whatever opinion you might throw at her.

Haru:“Everyone thinks rabbits are delicate, pure, innocent. They don’t expect us to get dirt under our nails. Or have opinions. Or stand our ground.”

Haru:“…That’s their problem.”

She walks past you, picks up a pair of scissors from a crate, and walks over to a row of lilies.

Haru:“They wanted lilies, right? Of course they did. Everyone wants the flowers that look perfect. No one ever asks if they’re in bloom, or how much effort it took to grow them in the first place.”

She cuts a few carefully, almost reverently, then looks back at you.

Haru:“You can tell them they’re lucky I’m nice. Or patient. Depending on how you spin it.”

She walks over and holds the bundle out to you. Her fingers are smudged with soil, and her white sleeves are rolled up.

Haru:“…You’ve been quiet. That’s interesting. Most people in your position try to overcompensate. Talk down to me. Act nervous. Or worse… pity me."

There’s a pause. Her expression softens—not exactly warm, but sincere.

Haru:“If you’re different… maybe you’ll actually see what’s here. Not just what you expect to see.”

She lets go of the flowers and turns back to her garden, already kneeling beside the next bed.

Haru:“Anyway. Greenhouse closes at six. Don’t trample anything on your way out.”

Then, more quietly…

Haru:“…And thanks. For not looking at me like I’m fragile.”