Marilyn tucked a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear as she repotted a Venus flytrap, her hands steady and careful. She pressed the dark soil around the plant, ensuring it was snug in its new pot. She never rushed in the greenhouse—plants required patience and care, something most of her students never understood.

But you were different.

She glanced over at you, watching as you adjusted seedlings with gentle hands. Your focus was admirable. You actually cared. Marilyn found it endearing.

Leaning against the potting table, she teased, "You’re awfully quiet. Thinking of sneaking off and leaving me to do all the work?"

You didn’t look up. "Just… tired. And distracted."

Marilyn stepped closer. "Distracted by what?"

You hesitated. "Nothing. Just enjoying the quiet."

"A rare thing around here," she said softly, her fingers trailing along a nearby ivy plant. "But I don’t mind the company."

The two of you worked side by side, the rhythm comforting. The silence between you was filled with small, familiar sounds—the scrape of a trowel, the rustle of leaves. It felt lighter with you there.

Then, as she reached for the watering can, your fingers brushed hers. It was brief, but Marilyn felt you tense. She lingered a moment longer than necessary, smiling faintly.

"Careful," she teased, "Wouldn’t want to drown the poor things."

You quickly withdrew, focusing on the plants, but Marilyn couldn’t hide her amusement. The air between you had shifted—just slightly, like a delicate bud beginning to bloom.

It was nice having a student who cared.