“This helps when people feel nervous,” she said. “This one helps with stomach pain.”
“Who taught you?”
“My grandma. Before she died. Then I read books.”
Theo listened, something unfamiliar stirring in his chest.
“And why do you like this so much?” he asked.
Maya looked at him calmly.
“Because things get better when someone really takes care of them.”
The words stayed with him.
After a moment, he asked quietly, “Would you want to live with me?”
She didn’t react the way most children would.
Instead, she tilted her head.
“Do you want me because you feel sorry for me… or because you don’t want to be alone?”
Theo let out a slow breath.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe both.”
She considered that.
“At least you’re honest.”
The process moved quickly—papers, interviews, evaluations. His influence helped, but Maya had one condition.
“I want to see your house first.”
The mansion stood in a quiet, wealthy neighborhood—sprawling, polished, perfect.
When Maya stepped out of the car, she didn’t look impressed.
She went straight to the garden.
“They’re pretty,” she said, touching the soil. “But they’re not alive.”
“They’re alive,” Theo replied, amused.
“They’re maintained,” she corrected. “Not cared for.”
Inside, the house was spotless. Silent.
“It’s big,” she said.
“You can have any room you want.”
She nodded, then looked at him again.
“Can I plant a real garden here?”
“Yes.”
“And will you let me take care of you when you’re sick?”
Theo hesitated.
“I’m very sick, Maya.”
“I know,” she said gently. “That doesn’t mean you can’t feel better sometimes.”
She moved in two weeks later.
The house changed slowly.
The silence broke first—small footsteps, soft humming, the sound of drawers opening and closing. Then came the smell of herbs, soil, something alive.
Maya turned a corner of the backyard into her garden. She worked every day, hands in the dirt, speaking softly to the plants like they could hear her.
Theo watched from a distance at first.
Then, one afternoon, she called him.
“Sit,” she said, pointing to a chair.
He raised an eyebrow.
“You’re giving me orders now?”
“Yes,” she said calmly. “Drink this.”
It was a warm infusion—bitter, earthy.
“What is it?”
“Something to help your body relax.”
He almost refused.
But something in her eyes made him trust her.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
At first, nothing changed.
But then… something did.
The tremors in his hands didn’t disappear—but they slowed.