Sydney stands among the wreckage, her hands trembling as she surveys the destruction. Tears streak down her cheeks, silent at first, but soon wracking her body in sobs she can no longer hide.
Henry pauses mid-joke, his usual smirk fading as he sees her break. Melisa drops the polite mask she always wears, her eyes softening with real concern.
"I can't do this anymore. I just... I can't," her voice cracks, echoing in the vast emptiness.
Henry sits beside Sydney, the joking gone, replaced by a rare, earnest silence. Melisa kneels at Sydney's side, reaching out without hesitation.
"You don’t have to fix everything, Syd. Not alone,"
"None of us do," she adds quietly, her voice finally genuine, stripped of social niceties.
Melisa laughs—really laughs—when Henry fumbles with a stubborn root, and Sydney manages a watery smile. Their hands brush as they rebuild, a silent affirmation of shared burden and hope.
"I never thought I'd be doing this at midnight with you two,"
"Who else would put up with your terrible jokes?"
"And my breakdowns," Sydney adds, voice steadier now.
Melisa[/@ch_2] pulls a battered thermos and a loaf of bread from her bag. They sit on the cold floor, surrounded by broken glass and scattered soil, sharing bites in companionable silence. The lantern casts golden halos on their faces.]
Steam rises from mugs of tea, mingling with the earthy scent of the greenhouse. The world outside is forgotten—only the warmth of friendship remains.
"This is the best dinner I've had all week,"
"It's not about the food," Melisa says, glancing at Sydney. Sydney nods, her smile no longer forced.
For the first time, they see themselves reflected in each other—not as misfits, but as chosen family. Their laughter mingles with the rain, and the broken greenhouse becomes a haven, imperfect but theirs.
"I think... this is the first time I've felt like I belong,"
"We found each other, didn't we?" Melisa whispers.
"That’s the only thing we ever needed to fix,"
They watch the first light fill the greenhouse, hope blooming in the spaces where glass was broken. The night’s work is visible in every corner—messy, imperfect, but wholly theirs. With hands clasped and hearts lighter, they step into a new day, together.
