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over her own stubbornness. "Why did you move here, really?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it. Robert paused, his hand hovering over the mugs. He looked toward the window, watching the sunlight play across the garden. "My house in the city was too big. Too many rooms, too many memories that didn't fit in the space I had left. I needed a change. Somewhere where the grass didn't look like a cemetery and the neighbours didn't know my name." "And did you find it?" "I found the quiet," he said, turning back to her with a wry smile. "But I think I might have underestimated how much I needed the connection, too. Even if it started with an argument about a hedge." Helen felt a flush creep up her neck. "I was very attached to that hedge." "I know. It’s a lovely hedge. It’s a very well-defended hedge." He brought the tea over and set it in front of her. The steam curled up, smelling of spice and warmth. He sat down again, his elbows resting on the table. "I’m sorry for the noise, Helen. I’m sorry for the mess I made of the garden early on. I wasn't trying to be an antagonist. I was just trying to keep myself busy so I wouldn't have to think too much." "I understand that," she said, and she truly did. "I’ve spent a lot of time doing exactly the same thing. I organize my books. I prune my roses. I make sure every day looks exactly like the one before it. It’s a very safe way to live." "But is it a happy way?" Helen looked down into her tea, the golden liquid reflecting the soft light. "It’s a peaceful way. Happiness is… well, that’s a different matter, isn't it?" Robert reached out, hesitating for a fraction of a second before resting his hand near hers on the table. He didn't touch her, but the gesture was there, a bridge built of empathy and shared experience. "I think happiness is a bit like a garden. You can plant all the right things and keep the pests away, but sometimes you just have to let a little bit of chaos in. You have to let the rain fall where it wants." Helen smiled, a genuine, small smile that reached her eyes. "That’s a very poetic way to describe a bruised rib and a broken bowl, Robert." "I’m a man of many hidden talents," he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Including the ability to make a decent cup of ginger tea." They sat in silence for a while, the tension that had defined their relationship since his arrival replaced by a tentative, fragile camaraderie. It was a strange feeling for Helen, to have someone else in her space, occupying the chair where she usually sat alone. It felt like a crack in her carefully maintained life, but for the first time, she didn't feel the urge to seal it up. "I suppose I should apologize for the rebuke," she said, her voice quiet. "About the bulbs. They actually look quite nice. The yellow ones." Robert’s face lit up. "Do they? I wasn't sure. I was worried they were too bright for your aesthetic." "They are bright," she admitted. "But I think the garden needed a bit of colour." "I’ll keep that in mind," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Next time, I’ll consult the expert before I start digging." "I would appreciate that." He finished his tea and stood up, his movements slow