UNENDING

37- Greenhouse

-AL-QASIM-

I stood outside the door to my parents' house, my heart beating heavily in my chest. I'd been here countless times before, but today felt different. The air was thick with uncertainty, a lingering unease that I couldn't shake. My mother had given me her word that she wouldn't interfere in my life anymore, but a part of me couldn't help but question if it was all a ruse. Could I really trust her, or was this just another maneuver in a long game she'd been playing for years?

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The familiar scent of the house hit me—an odd mix of old wood, expensive perfume, and the faint, earthy smell of the greenhouse my mother loved so much. A maid passed by, her arms full of freshly laundered towels, and I stopped her with a quiet request.

"Where's my mother?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"She's in the greenhouse, sir," she replied, bowing slightly before hurrying off.

The greenhouse. Of course. I hesitated for a moment, then made my way through the long, echoing hallways of the house, my footsteps muffled by the thick carpet beneath me. The greenhouse had always been my mother's sanctuary, a place where she could retreat when the world became too much. When I was younger, I'd often peek inside, only to see her hunched over a plant, tearing at the leaves in anger or smashing a pot in frustration after one of her infamous screaming matches with my father.

I reached the door and paused, taking another breath to steady myself. Then, I pushed it open.

She was there, bent over a plant, her back to me, as she gently sprayed water over the leaves. For a moment, I just stood there, watching her. The greenhouse was peaceful, filled with the soft hum of a small fountain and the rustling of leaves as the breeze from the open windows drifted through. She looked almost serene, completely absorbed in her task.

Finally, she straightened up and turned to face me, a small smile on her lips. "Al-Qasim," she greeted, her voice surprisingly soft.

I stepped forward, feeling a bit out of place in this space that had always been hers. She handed me a spray bottle, her smile still in place.

"Care to join me?" she asked, her tone almost casual.

I hesitated but took the bottle from her. "Sure," I said, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.

As I started to spray the plant she indicated, she spoke again. "How was your trip?"

"It was fine," I replied, keeping my tone neutral. I wasn't sure where this was going, but I wasn't about to let my guard down just yet.

She hummed in response, then pointed to the pansies I was now tending. "This is my favorite plant," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. "We had a lot of them in my family home. I used to water them every other day."

I glanced at her, surprised by the softness in her voice. She rarely spoke about her past, and when she did, it was never with this kind of tenderness.

"But when I was sixteen, I had to let them go," she continued, her gaze distant. "One minute, I was running around with my sisters, and the next, I was being taken to a strange place and told that I was now married."

I froze, the spray bottle pausing in mid-air as I processed her words. This wasn't the conversation I was expecting.

"I had to leave every childish thing behind because I was a woman now," she said, a bitter smile crossing her lips. "I had to focus on my husband and the new family I would create. I didn't understand any of it. I didn't understand why my husband wasn't like the princes I read about. He wasn't sweet or romantic—he was the opposite. I cried myself to sleep every day for the first few months, and my mother-in-law would shout at me to grow up."