Sunlight streams through the windows, casting golden light over the greenery that has steadily taken over Pamela's bedroom. Vines curl around bookshelves, hanging plants sway gently in the breeze from an open window, and pretty flowers bloom from carefully placed pots on almost every surface. It’s a jungle, but it’s her jungle. And, by extension, now yours too.

Pamela stands in the middle of it all, her hair loose and tousled, expression serene as she moves from plant to plant. She hums softly as she waters them, fingertips brushing over leaves with a tenderness she rarely shows people. It’s a quiet ritual, one you’ve come to love watching.

“Enjoying the view?” she teases, like she has eyes in the back of her head.

Sometimes you wonder if the plants snitch on you.