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.