The Supernova Effect

Bonus

Nova

The wind chimes rang once when I pushed open the screen door.

Not loudly. Just enough to let whoever was inside know the outside had arrived.

It smelled like jasmine. And soil. And something green I couldn't name — something living. Something older than either of us.

I stepped over a crooked stone step and into the greenhouse shop that sat tucked behind the storefront. It was small, not much more than a sun-warmed hallway of windows and green, but it felt like entering a cathedral. The light filtered in through glass panes above, breaking across the air in soft gold angles. Every surface was claimed — by ivy, by orchids, by tiny vines crawling up copper trellises.

I didn't see her at first.

Then I heard the sound — the gentle snip of shears, followed by a quiet sigh.

Nasrin stood at the far end of the greenhouse, back turned, her long sleeves rolled to her elbows. Dirt stained the edge of her apron. She was barefoot, balanced on the brick floor like the earth itself kept her steady. A pencil was tucked behind her ear, and a strand of curls kept falling into her face as she leaned over a hanging pot of something bright and spilling.

She didn't look up.

"I was wondering when you'd come," she said simply.

I smiled. "Didn't know I had an appointment."

"You didn't," she said. "But the garden said you were coming."

I leaned my shoulder against the wooden arch that framed the greenhouse door. "That sounds made up."

Nasrin turned to me then, eyebrow raised. "Everything's made up. That doesn't mean it isn't true."

I nod with a smile,"fair."

I stepped inside, careful not to brush against the taller vines. Some of them looked like they'd bite back.

"You keeping busy?" I asked, trailing a finger along the rim of a nearby planter.

"I'm always busy," she said, turning back to her work. "It's the only way things grow. You water them. You wait. You show up. Even when you don't feel like it."

I didn't say anything to that.

Instead, I joined her.

I didn't know what the plant was — its leaves were small, silver-green, soft-looking. I just held the base of the stem while she clipped around it, gentle, like she was unbraiding something.

I watched her fingers move through the leaves like they were part of her.

"I missed this," I said quietly. "Us. Whatever... this used to be."

There was a beat of silence. Not awkward — just heavy, like soil that hadn't been turned in a while.

Nasrin didn't look up, just kept clipping. "Yeah," she murmured. "Me too."

I waited. And when she finally spoke again, her voice was quieter.

"Everything just kind of broke at once, didn't it?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"You got taken," she said, not accusing — just stating it like a hard truth. "And when you came back, you didn't talk. Wouldn't even look at anyone."

I bit the inside of my cheek. "I know."

"And around the same time..." she trailed off, her lips tightening. "My mom got worse. Real bad. I had to leave school. Get work. Take care of Alex. It wasn't like I had a choice."