oOo
Chapter 6: Sunflower and Birch
️oOo
️ Content Information: ️
- Features awkward yet strangely captivating bus stop encounters.
- Dangerous levels of plant-whispering flatmates.
- Contains one intense cactus-wrangling scene – approach with gloves.
- Your cat will betray you for a stranger with long hair.
- Judgmental ivy and unsolicited horticultural advice.
oOo
Monday, 30th of April, Year 2018 Seventh Age
Esther arrived at the bus stop just before the scheduled time, the rain tapping a steady rhythm on her umbrella. The cool air seeped through her coat, but she didn't mind it. The rain had its charm, though biking in it wasn't worth the hassle. Her bicycle stayed home today.
The bus stop was nearly empty, save for a tall man standing near the timetable. His dark hair, dampened by the rain, framed a face that seemed a bit too serious for a Friday morning. He appeared focused on the timetable, but something in his posture suggested he was paying attention to more than just the arrival times.
Esther rummaged through her bag for her phone and headphones, seeking the usual comfort of music to pass the time. Bach or Mozart, probably...something calm to ground her thoughts.
"Does the bus to Ravental leave from here?"
His voice was calm but unexpectedly close. She hadn't noticed him move nearer. Esther turned, finding herself looking up at him: grey eyes meeting hers, his presence steady and composed, unbothered by the rain. There was something unusual in his voice - measured, careful, with an accent she couldn't quite place. Not too thick, but distinct enough to catch her attention.
Gladiolus and rosemary – his signature. How unusual! She couldn't recall ever having encountered that combination before and realised too late she was staring at him. "Yes," she replied, shaking off the odd sensation. "It should be here any minute."
He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a beat longer than she expected. "It's my first time taking this bus. I'm starting work in Ravental."
His tone was polite but not especially warm. Esther shifted her weight slightly, unsure if he was angling for conversation or simply filling the silence.
"What kind of work?" she asked, more out of politeness than curiosity.
"A tree nursery," he answered with the same quiet, straightforward tone.
Esther gave a faint nod. "I work at the flower shop nearby. We get most of our plants from the garden centre attached to the nursery."
"Then perhaps we'll meet again." He offered a small, almost reluctant smile. "I might have to learn from you, it seems," he added. "I'm not much of a plant expert."
Esther let out a soft breath. "Lesson one: Plants are the leafy green things that occasionally produce flowers. You'll find them everywhere—especially in a tree nursery. Start with that, and you'll be fine."
To her mild surprise, he laughed—a quiet, unpractised sound, as if he wasn't used to it. The brief flicker of humour passed quickly, replaced by the same calm seriousness.
"I suppose I have much to learn," he said quietly.
Esther glanced down the road. The bus was approaching. "It'll be here soon."
He simply nodded. They boarded in silence, and Esther took a seat a few rows behind him. Though she slipped on her headphones, she found herself distracted. There was something about the exchange that stayed with her, though she couldn't put her finger on why.
oOo
The bus jolted forward, and Aragorn gripped the edge of his seat discreetly, unfamiliar with the motion. He stared out the window, forcing himself to adapt to the unnatural speed of this world. He was used to observing it through the Palantír, but experiencing it firsthand was jarring.
By the time the bus slowed at his stop, he was ready to disembark. As he stepped off, Esther's voice called out casually, "Good luck on your first day."
He glanced back briefly. "Thank you," he replied with a nod.
As the bus drove off, Aragorn exhaled deeply, letting some of the tension ease from his shoulders. The modern world was as alien as he had feared, its noise and speed rattling his senses. Not only was the time and age deeply unsettling, the Half-Elf herself was not as he had imagined. She was more distant, more tightly wound than the woman he thought he knew from stolen glimpses.
There was a restraint about her, a guarded edge he hadn't anticipated. Through the Palantír, he had glimpsed moments of warmth and quiet resilience, but in person, she seemed more distant, less inclined to engage. This would not be as simple as he had hoped.
oOo
After that brief encounter that morning, Esther felt a flicker of curiosity, but it quickly faded. Gladiolus and rosemary. She frowned. Gladiolus was unfamiliar to her, a bit old-fashioned - like something from another time. Then a line from her herbal almanac came to mind: The gladiolus - an ancient symbol of strength and victory - and that alongside rosemary, the sign of loyalty, but also of remembrance.
She smiled. If she took the flower symbols at face value, she'd just met a man who seemed straight out of the Middle Ages - a knight in spirit, if not in name. Tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome, he certainly had the looks for it.
But if she was honest, the guy (the tree-guy, as she'd mentally dubbed him) had come across as... a little intense. Not in a bad way, just kind of there - like someone who didn't quite know how to blend in. He wasn't creepy, exactly - just a bit offbeat. Maybe it was his first day nerves, or maybe he was just one of those people who had an air of mystery about them.
She barely thought about him again until that evening, when he boarded the bus home and greeted her with a polite nod. She returned the gesture, noting idly how out of place he seemed, as though he belonged to a quieter, slower world.
"How was your first day?" she asked, not expecting much of an answer.
"As any beginning can be," he replied, the words chosen carefully. "Full of new things."
Esther smiled faintly. "That sounds like something out of a poem." The words slipped out before she thought to stop them.
His eyes flicked to her, a glimmer of curiosity in his gaze. "Magic in every beginning, isn't that the phrase?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
"Hermann Hesse," she said, surprised he recognized it. "You know it?"
He gave a small shrug. "I've heard it. I'm not sure where."
Esther tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling unexpectedly self-conscious. "It's one of my favourites," she admitted lightly. "There's something comforting about the idea that beginnings hold their own kind of enchantment."
He seemed to consider this, his gaze steady but distant. "Maybe there's magic in more than just beginnings," he replied after a pause. "Maybe it's everywhere. People just forget to look."
His words made her pause. There was something about the way he said it, as if he truly believed it. She glanced out the window, the city lights blurring past, and nodded faintly.
"Maybe," she said, her voice soft.
By the time they parted ways, she had already tucked the brief interaction into the back of her mind. Nothing more than a fleeting moment of shared space on a rainy day. But as she lay down that night, she couldn't quite forget the stranger who spoke like someone from another time.
oOo
Friday, 4th of May, Year 2018 Seventh Age, Lunchtime
It had been days since that bus ride, but the memory of their brief encounter still lingered at the edges of her thoughts.
Esther stood by the front shop window, rearranging a display of tulips, daffodils, and hyacinths. The fresh colours of spring brightened the shop, and the faint scent of earth and greenery filled the air, grounding her in the small comfort of routine.
As the morning crept toward midday, she glanced out at the rain pattering against the glass. Lunchtime was approaching, and she debated whether she wanted to dash across the street for a coffee from the café opposite the flower shop or settle for tea to carry her through the afternoon. The lunch hour usually brought a small rush of customers, but there was still time for a quick indulgence - if she felt like braving the rain.
Moss was sprawled lazily across the counter, one paw draped over a small cluster of primroses, as if he had claimed them for himself. His silver fur shimmered faintly in the soft light filtering through the window, and his tail flicked absently, as though he, too, was weighing the merits of venturing outside.
The bell above the door chimed, pulling her from her thoughts.
She turned, expecting one of the usual customers.
Instead, it was the man from the bus stop. Droplets of rain still clung to his jacket, and his gaze settled on her—steady and unreadable.
Tree-guy.
Esther blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
Moss lifted his head, his green eyes locking onto the newcomer. The cat's ears twitched, and he slowly straightened, sitting upright in that way only cats could—both regal and indifferent.
"Good afternoon," the man greeted, stepping inside.
"Afternoon," Esther replied, brushing her hands on her apron. "Here for plants or just shelter from the rain?"
He smiled faintly. "A bit of both, I think. And advice…making the most of my lunchbreak."
She arched an eyebrow. "You know, you're supposed to be the expert now. Don't tell me you've already killed half the trees at the nursery."
"I haven't killed anything. Yet." He crossed the room to inspect a cluster of potted herbs. "But I thought I'd take your advice. Start with something simple."
As he moved further into the shop, Moss leapt down from the counter and padded silently after him, keeping a deliberate distance but never letting him out of sight.
Esther's brow furrowed. Moss rarely followed strangers - if anything, he usually ignored them or retreated somewhere unreachable when someone new entered. But now he trailed this man like he was conducting some kind of silent interrogation.
She arched an eyebrow. "Huh. That's unusual."
He glanced down at the cat, who had taken to circling his legs like a guard on patrol. "Is it?"
"Moss doesn't usually bother with customers," Esther said, watching as the cat brushed once against his shin. "Either you smell like sardines, or he's decided you need supervising."
The man crouched slightly, eyeing Moss with careful amusement. "Well, I can assure you, I don't recall bringing any fish." He extended a tentative hand as if negotiating peace. "And I'd prefer not to fail whatever test this is."
Moss regarded him for a long moment, then flicked his tail and stalked away, leaping onto a perch near the rosemary. He still watched, but now with the sort of dignified aloofness only cats could manage.
Esther laughed softly. "Congratulations. You passed."
"I'm relieved," he replied with mock solemnity. "I've heard the consequences can be severe."
"You have no idea," she said with a smirk. "He holds grudges."
The man straightened, shifting his focus to the plants. "Then I'll stay on his good side."
Her gaze followed him. There was something about the way he moved - careful, deliberate, as though he felt the need to treat everything with quiet reverence.
His hand lingered over the rosemary.
"I see you have a favourite," Esther remarked.
His fingers grazed the leaves, and he gave a noncommittal hum. "It reminds me of something. Or someone."
Esther tilted her head slightly but didn't press. "It's good for memory. And for protection. Old tradition."
He looked at her, something flickering in his expression. "Yes. I've heard that."
Moss narrowed his eyes again, clearly not letting the man off the hook just yet.
A brief silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but weighty in a way she couldn't place.
Finally, she added, "Well, if you're serious about learning, I could give you a quick lesson. I promise not to charge extra for beginners."
He laughed - soft but genuine. "I'll take you up on that."
The lesson was brief - more of a casual conversation, really. He listened attentively as she explained the uses of different herbs, sometimes nodding in quiet recognition. Occasionally, he asked questions, not out of ignorance but as if trying to piece together how these traditions mirrored or differed from others he had known.
There was a quiet reverence in the way he regarded the plants, as though he understood that even the simplest of them carried weight beyond their physical form.
"It's funny," Esther remarked at one point, brushing soil from her hands. "People come in here all the time asking about the 'meaning' of flowers or which herb protects against bad luck. But sometimes I think they just like the idea that these things could hold more than what we see."
He glanced at the rosemary he'd been inspecting, his fingers still lightly tracing its leaves. "They do," he said softly. "It's not just an idea."
Esther tilted her head. "You say that like you actually believe it."
He met her gaze, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I suppose I do."
Moss flicked his tail pointedly from his perch, as if to agree.
As he turned toward the door, he paused for a brief moment. "I hope I'll see you around?" His eyes lingered on her for a beat, unreadable. "Maybe Monday morning."
Esther arched an eyebrow. "Bus to Ravental again?"
His smile deepened, just slightly. "Perhaps."
By the time he left, the rain had stopped, and the sun peeked through the clouds.
Esther watched him walk away through the window, her hands resting lightly on the counter. Moss jumped back onto the counter, curling up once more as if nothing had happened.
She realised something then.
She still didn't know his name.
But for reasons she couldn't fully explain, she found herself hoping he would come back.
oOo
Friday, 4th of May, Year 2018 Seventh Age, Late Afternoon
Aragorn had followed her earlier in the week, wanting to get a feel for this place she now called home. Her apartment was just a few streets away from the one he and Legolas had rented, a cramped space secured through their new employer—a man so desperate for workers he had hired them without papers and put them in a rundown flat. The gold coins Aragorn exchanged at a pawnshop, where no questions were asked about their origin, had been their only means of survival at first.
When Aragorn returned to the apartment Friday evening, Legolas had not yet arrived. They had agreed not to travel to work together initially, giving Aragorn time to establish contact with Beriel. Legolas, despite his best efforts, still had an unshakable elven presence that was difficult to conceal. Aragorn, having spent years moving through various disguises, blended into this world more easily. For Legolas, the challenge of living as someone else was more foreign than the prospect of returning to their time.
Aragorn sighed with relief when he heard Legolas' light footsteps on the stairs. The elf entered, tossed his cap into the corner, and collapsed into the armchair that had likely been left behind by the previous tenant. Their meagre furniture consisted of two mattresses, a mismatched collection of chairs, the armchair amongst them, a wobbly table, and a stove and some shelves in the kitchen. The landlord had looked perplexed by their refusal to accept a television or radio.
Legolas stretched, letting out a long breath. "I'm a woodland elf," he said. "Give me a bow and arrow, and I'm good to go. But days spent burying elm trees and pruning roses? Not exactly my calling." He grinned, though his tone was light. "I could give Samwise a run for his money with all I've learned about planting oaks. When we return to Middle-earth, I'll be the expert on all things green."
Aragorn chuckled, leaning against the wall. "Why should you fare any better than I?"
"Did you meet her again?" Legolas asked, his gaze sharpening.
"Yes, I saw her today at the flower shop. She..." He hesitated. "She's different. Familiar and yet… not. There's something about her that stands out...she carries Middle-earth with her, but not in the way I expected."
Legolas listened to him, arms crossed. "Did she sense anything? Any familiarity?"
Aragorn's expression grew thoughtful, tinged with regret. "No. She was kind, curious, but there was no recognition. It felt… intrusive, like I was an outsider trying to touch something I shouldn't." Legolas nodded. "I felt something similar when I found her in the forest, surrounded by orcs. She already had an otherness about her. It's perhaps her mixed heritage."
Aragorn exhaled slowly, his thoughts drifting. "I wonder what truly happened to her after the Nazgûl took her. If she was brought to Sauron, she may have been held at Dol Guldur first when he returned. Gandalf believes she was pulled into this time only after the Ring's destruction, meaning she could have been under Sauron's shadow for centuries."
He shook his head, banishing the thought. His gaze shifted to the bag Legolas had brought back. To Aragorn's amusement, the elf noticeably stiffened when their eyes met.
"The boss' wife," Legolas began, his expression darkening slightly. "She seems to believe I'm malnourished. Her husband gave me an advance and insisted I buy something 'decent' to eat. And she packed vegetables." He set the bag on the table with mild offense.
Aragorn burst out laughing. "Legolas, one day on the job, and you've already charmed the whole neighbourhood."
"I wasn't trying to," Legolas muttered, rubbing his temples. "But apparently elves cannot appear 'too thin' without alarming everyone in sight."
Aragorn shook his head, opening the bag to pull out carrots and a bundle of leafy greens. "I suppose we can't let their kindness go to waste."
As he began preparing a simple meal, Aragorn added more quietly, "There's something else. Moss has continued to stare at me."
Legolas's lips twitched. "A staring cat? Dangerous indeed."
"I'm serious," Aragorn muttered. "I think he knows."
Legolas raised an eyebrow, barely concealing his amusement. "Knows what, exactly?"
"I'm not sure," Aragorn admitted, slicing a carrot with more force than necessary. "But he follows me around the shop like I owe him something."
Legolas settled back in his chair, clearly enjoying Aragorn's discomfort. "Then tread carefully. Few things hold more sway over mortals than a cat with grudges."
Aragorn shot him a glare, but Legolas's laughter echoed softly in the small apartment.
oOo
Saturday, 5th of May, Year 2018, Seventh Age
That night, she had another strange dream- though this time, it lingered vividly upon waking.
She stood in an ancient city, cradled against the slope of a mountain. The buildings around her were hewn from grey stone, their outlines softened by thick mist. Despite the daylight, a perpetual, gloomy twilight suffused the streets. There was no sound, no movement - just an eerie, lifeless stillness.
Esther wandered, her steps echoing faintly in the silence, searching for something she could not name. The same empty streets greeted her at every turn - narrow alleys, grey facades, all devoid of life or colour. Her path led her upward, winding through the labyrinthine city.
At last, she reached a wide, open gate. Beyond it lay a vast square, perched at the city's highest level.
At its centre stood a fountain, its waters still and unmoving. Beside it, a withered tree—once white, now brittle and grey—stood like a forgotten sentinel. Its branches stretched toward the sky, lifeless and stiff, save for one.
On a slender limb, a single white bud glowed faintly.
Drawn to it, Esther approached the tree. She stood in quiet awe as the bud slowly began to bloom, its petals unfurling in swift, unnatural grace. The flower radiated with a beauty that seemed too vibrant for the grey world around it. From far away, she thought she heard a melody - soft, lilting, like distant laughter on the wind.
But as quickly as it bloomed, the flower began to fade. Its petals darkened and curled, the brilliance giving way to grey. All that remained was a small flicker of light at its heart.
"Take it," a voice said.
Esther turned sharply.
An old man stood beside the tree, his blue eyes gleaming with quiet mischief. His robe, once deep blue, had faded, the hems worn as if by long travels. The air around him carried the scent of artemisia and mistletoe—sharp, clean, familiar.
Recognition stirred, but she could not place it.
He watched her with silent amusement, as if waiting for her to understand something just beyond her reach.
Her eyes returned to the flower. The light had become a seed.
Esther hesitated for only a moment before reaching out and taking it into her palm.
As her fingers closed around it, warmth spread through her body, light seeping into every corner of her being. It filled her like sunlight piercing through fog.
When she opened her eyes, the seed, and the old man, were gone.
But his voice lingered, soft as a breath against the mist.
"Remember... remember..."
A pause. Then, with quiet amusement:
"Or forget, if you must. It will wait for your rediscovery."
His words drifted away like leaves carried on the wind.
Esther woke abruptly.
For a long moment, she stared into the darkness, the echoes of the dream still whispering through her mind. Her pulse steadied as the familiarity of her room grounded her. But the dream... it lingered, like a half-forgotten song, a story she could almost remember.
oOo
It was Saturday morning.
The birds had just begun their songs, and the soft light of dawn crept across the floor. Despite the early hour, Esther was awake and restless. Sleep no longer held her.
She rose, dressing quickly. The day stretched out with little urgency...just a few small plans. Renovating the apartment. Perhaps a bike ride. Julia had mentioned a trip to the cinema.
But as she cycled to the market, the dream's presence remained at the edges of her thoughts.
Dreams had always seemed symbolic to her ... fragments of the subconscious, processing moments and memories. Yet this one felt different. Not a symbol, but a memory in disguise. The seed's warmth still flickered faintly in her palm, as if something waited to take root.
Later that morning, as she browsed the stalls at the market, a strange thing happened.
She thought she heard someone call her name.
Her head snapped up, eyes scanning the crowd. Just beyond a stall, she glimpsed a tall, slender man. His blue eyes caught the light, sharp and familiar, though she couldn't place why. She had a fleeting impression of a signature – beech and evergreen – new beginnings and everlasting friendship or unwavering loyality.
The sight jolted her - a strange, cold certainty washing over her skin.
She knew him.
Somehow. Somewhere.
But by the time she tried to find him again, he was gone.
Esther turned back to the tomatoes in her hand, but the uneasy feeling remained - like the fleeting reflection of someone standing behind her, seen only in the corner of a mirror.
It followed her home, clinging to her even as she painted the living room a cheerful yellow.
By evening, she had pushed the thought aside. Perhaps it was nothing. A passing stranger.
Yet as she lay down that night, she couldn't shake the feeling she would see him again.
And almost without realizing it, her thoughts drifted toward Monday morning.
If it rained, she might take the bus.
oOo
Monday, 7th of May, Year 2018 Seventh Age
Esther woke half an hour before her alarm, leaving her with the rare luxury of a slow morning. She lingered over breakfast, took the long route to the bus stop, and even stopped to enjoy the faint warmth of early spring sunlight filtering through the trees.
It was the first time in weeks she hadn't felt rushed.
When she reached the stop, she scanned the area out of habit.
To her disappointment, tree-guy wasn't there.
Esther shifted her bag higher on her shoulder and leaned against the shelter post. As the bus rumbled closer, she glanced down the road one last time.
Nothing.
Maybe she'd misread him. Their brief encounters had been... nice, but not exactly noteworthy. He hadn't flirted, and neither had she—though she suspected neither of them would call it that even if it happened. Still, there was something in the way he listened. Attentive. Warm.
But perhaps she'd imagined that, too.
The bus doors hissed as they shut.
And then, just as the driver signalled to pull away, someone appeared around the corner, moving at a brisk, unhurried pace.
It was him.
The driver, thankfully in no rush, opened the doors again. Esther shifted her backpack from the seat beside her as he slid in with a quiet sigh.
"Close one," she remarked, the corner of her mouth twitching with amusement.
"I thought I wouldn't make it," he admitted, his grin flashing as he settled in.
Esther shot him a glance. He barely looked winded. Fit. Probably someone who ran regularly.
"I overslept," he added, chuckling softly. "Still getting used to working normal hours."
"Tree nursery hours?"
He nodded. "Early mornings, but it's peaceful. I can't complain."
Esther rested her hands on her lap. "What did you do before that?"
He hesitated briefly, as if deciding how much to share. "I worked with a travelling circus for a while."
She blinked. "A circus?"
He laughed quietly at her surprise. "It's not as unusual as it sounds."
Esther tilted her head, curiosity growing. "And what did you do there?"
He shifted slightly, leaning back against the seat. "I was the - what's the saying? - 'jack of all trades.'" A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Though I think 'master of none' fits better."
Esther smiled. "Meaning?"
"Setting up tents, taking care of animals, fixing things. Whatever needed doing, really." His gaze drifted toward the window. "Until I had an accident. Nothing dramatic, but enough to move on."
There was something in the way he said it—light, but with weight beneath the words.
"I suppose gardening's not that different," she offered.
He glanced at her. His eyes softened slightly, as if he appreciated the thought. "In some ways. But it's quieter."
Esther found herself noting the warmth in his voice - calm and melodic, like someone who could sing well if they wanted to. His accent lingered somewhere between familiar and foreign, making her wonder where he was really from.
"Being outside feels right," he continued, his gaze far away. "I think I needed that."
Esther smiled faintly. "I know what you mean. If I could run the flower shop out in the open air, I'd never step inside again."
His eyes flickered back to her. "You like being outdoors?"
"Always. There's something about it that... resets everything."
He seemed to consider this. "If you had to choose, would you feel more at home in the woods, the fields, or the mountains?"
Esther narrowed her eyes playfully. "That's an oddly specific question."
He laughed softly. "Humour me."
She pretended to think it over. "Well, you forgot the sea."
His brow lifted slightly, as if the thought had genuinely escaped him. "Ah. The sea's a world of its own. Can't forget that."
"Good." She smiled. "But if I had to choose... the woods. Trees remind me that time moves slowly and that patience is necessary."
His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then he nodded. "That's a wise way to look at it."
There was a pause - calm but heavy with something unspoken.
"Did you know trees have voices?" he asked suddenly, his tone light, but his eyes sharp with something deeper.
Esther blinked. "What?" This must be the oddest conversation ever, she thought bemused.
"They talk to each other," he explained, leaning back against the seat. "They share stories of storms, the birds that visit, and the winters they've endured. And they listen for the voices of tree maidens."
Esther couldn't help but laugh. "Tree maidens?"
"You laugh," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "but every forest searches for its keeper. You might be one without realising it."
There it was again: that odd sense of familiarity, like a memory she couldn't quite grasp.
For a moment, she forgot to reply, caught instead in the cadence of his voice.
"Ian, by the way," he added casually, breaking the silence. His tone was soft, but the name lingered between them.
Esther blinked, catching up. "Sorry?"
"My name," he said with a slight smile. "Ian."
"Oh." She took his offered hand, shaking it briefly. "Esther."
Their hands lingered for just a second longer than necessary before pulling away.
"Well, Ian," she said, settling back in her seat, "tell me more about these tree maidens. Or is that something you charge extra for?"
He chuckled. "I think you'd qualify for a discount."
Esther grinned.
Ian glanced out the window. "Leander - my flatmate - and I usually stop by that café near the florist at lunch. You might catch us there, and you'd never hear the end of stories about trees."
Esther raised a brow. "You got a flatmate?"
Ian nodded. "He works with me at the garden centre. You'd know him if you saw him—he's not exactly subtle."
Esther raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Not subtle how?"
Ian chuckled. "Louder than I am. Friendly, but he has a way of... making himself part of whatever's happening."
She laughed. "Sounds like the type who knows half the café by name after one visit." She tilted her head. "I usually go there for lunch when I have time. I guess I'll keep an eye out."
Ian glanced at her with a faint smile. "I doubt you'll miss him."
"I'll brace myself, then," Esther teased lightly.
The bus rolled forward, and although the conversation drifted, the atmosphere between them felt easier - like the first steps of something familiar, even if she couldn't place why.
oOo
Wednesday, 9th of May, Year 2018 Seventh Age
The café on the corner was unusually busy for a Wednesday. Esther had been lucky to find a small table near the window, balancing her sandwich, coffee and her book carefully as she settled into the chair. The noise of lunchtime chatter created a gentle hum around her, making it easy to disappear into her thoughts.
She glanced at her watch. She had about an hour before her appointment, and she wasn't in the mood to rush.
As she sipped her coffee, the bell over the door jingled, and she glanced up instinctively.
Ian walked in, scanning the café briefly before his gaze landed on her. His expression shifted—something between surprise and amusement - and he tilted his head slightly in greeting.
Trailing a few steps behind him was someone she hadn't met before – or had she?
Tall and impossibly graceful, the second man's presence seemed to shift the energy in the room without trying. His pale hair fell just past his shoulders, gleaming faintly in the daylight, and his sharp, angular features made him look like he belonged on a windswept cliffside or in a Renaissance painting of forgotten legends.
Esther blinked. Beech and evergreen…the man she'd thought she'd seen on the market on Saturday.
Ian nudged the man toward the counter, but not before he leaned in to say something, causing Ian to shake his head in that exasperated yet familiar way people did with old friends.
They ordered quickly, but the café was packed, and when Ian turned, tray in hand, his eyes drifted over the tables and met hers again.
He approached, balancing their drinks and their lunch carefully. "Mind if we join you? It's a bit crowded."
Esther nodded, shifting her bag to make room. "Sure. It's not every day the tree nursery staff invades my lunch hour."
Ian chuckled as he set the tray down. "We're expanding our territory."
The second man slid into the seat across from her without hesitation, offering an easy smile as if they were already well-acquainted – and his signature just underlined that feeling – beech and evergreen – renewal and friendship.
"I'm Leander," he said, reaching out his hand. His voice was smooth - charming but not forced.
Esther took it, briefly noting how cool his skin felt. "Esther. I've heard about you."
"Only good things, I hope?"
"Ian said you're louder than he is."
Leander grinned, casting Ian a look. "Did he now? I'd call that slander. I prefer to think of myself as... engaging."
Ian sat down beside him, shaking his head. "See what I have to deal with?"
Esther laughed. "I see what you mean."
Leander leaned back slightly, glancing toward the window. "It's not hard to be louder than Ian. He likes to brood in silence half the time. It's practically a hobby."
Ian shot him a look over his coffee cup, but there was no real heat behind it.
Esther watched the exchange, feeling something subtle beneath the surface—something easy and lived-in. They were comfortable in each other's company in a way that suggested more than just flatmates.
"Do you both work at the garden centre?" Esther asked, stirring her coffee absently.
Ian nodded. "Yeah. Leander joined a little after I did. We're mostly out in the fields."
Leander added, "Though Ian tends to get stuck with the heavier lifting. I supervise."
"Sounds about right," Ian muttered, shooting him a sideways glance.
Esther smirked. "And before that? You're both from the same area, I assume?"
Ian's gaze flickered briefly to Leander, something unspoken passing between them before he answered. "Wales. Small place. Lots of hills, lots of trees. It's... quiet."
Leander tilted his head thoughtfully. "It's one of those places where you could walk for hours and not see another soul."
Esther imagined it, picturing windswept fields and dense woods. It suited them, she thought.
"You both seem more like the outdoor type," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"It grows on you," Leander replied lightly. "Once you've spent enough time in the woods, cities start to feel a bit... strange."
Ian's eyes softened slightly, as if he agreed but wasn't ready to say it aloud.
Esther noticed the shift, but before she could say anything, Leander leaned forward, glancing at the plant in the window beside their table.
"You know," Leander said, his gaze drifting to the ivy in the corner, "that plant's not happy."
Esther followed his eyes to the ivy, tilting her head. "What makes you say that?"
He looked closer, studying the leaves. "It's reaching too much. Means it's craving shade and water."
Esther glanced at the plant, frowning. Now that he mentioned it, the edges of the leaves did seem a little crisp. "Huh. I hadn't noticed."
Ian smirked over the rim of his coffee cup. "Leander likes to think he's some kind of plant whisperer. Don't encourage him."
Leander, unbothered, continued to inspect the ivy. "I just pay attention. Plants usually tell you what they need."
Esther raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "So, you talk to plants?"
Leander shrugged lightly. "Sometimes it feels that way. You just have to listen carefully enough."
Esther wasn't sure if he was joking, but there was something in the way he said it - calm, matter-of-fact - that made her pause.
As the conversation drifted to safer topics - coffee, local events, the occasional complaint about the weather - Esther couldn't help but notice the way Ian and Leander's conversations folded effortlessly into each other, as if they shared more words than they ever spoke aloud. Yet, somehow, they left space for her, drawing her into that easy camaraderie without making her feel like an outsider.
She sipped her coffee, quietly observing, the warmth of it grounding her in the rare comfort of belonging.
oOo
Tuesday 22th of May, Year 2018 Seventh Age
The bell above the door chimed, and Esther didn't bother looking up. She was locked in what felt like mortal combat with a cactus that had way too much attitude for something that relied on her for water.
"One second!" she grunted, yanking at a tangle of roots.
"Take your time. I can tell this is a very personal battle."
She glanced up, already smiling as she recognised the voice. Ian and Leander had crashed her lunch table three times since that first café meeting two weeks ago, and she almost missed their banter on the days that they didn't turn up.
"Leander." She dropped the cactus onto the counter like she was slamming down a gauntlet. "I thought Ian kept you at the tree nursery to avoid public disturbances."
Leander grinned as he set a crate of herbs down, inspecting his nails like someone entirely too pleased with himself. "That's the idea, but I keep escaping."
Before Esther could fire back, a soft thud from the top shelf drew both their attention.
Moss had arrived.
The cat stretched languidly, hopping down to the counter with the kind of slow, deliberate movement that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing. He approached the crate, sat beside it, and proceeded to stare directly at Leander like he'd just caught him breaking into the shop.
Leander arched a brow, meeting the gaze without hesitation. "Well, hello there."
Moss's eyes narrowed. His tail flicked.
Esther smirked. "Oh, you're in trouble now. He doesn't trust easily."
Leander leaned forward, elbows on the counter, until he and Moss were practically nose to nose. "I've been in tighter spots."
Moss blinked once. Slowly. The kind of blink that said I could end you, but I'm busy right now.
"Oh, this is going to be good," Esther murmured, crossing her arms and leaning back against the shelves.
They continued staring.
Seconds passed.
Moss's tail flicked again, like a countdown to something catastrophic.
Finally, in a move so dramatic it bordered on offensive, Moss stretched, rubbed his entire body along Leander's arm, and flopped against him with a throaty, rumbling purr that could probably be heard in the next room.
Esther's jaw dropped. "You've got to be kidding me."
Leander casually scratched behind Moss's ear, his smirk downright smug. "What can I say? Animals like me."
Moss flopped harder, rolling onto his back and exposing his belly.
"Seriously?" Esther pointed an accusing finger at the cat. "You hissed at the postman yesterday."
Moss ignored her completely, stretching his paws out toward Leander like he was inviting further worship.
Leander obliged. "I guess I just have the touch."
Esther narrowed her eyes. "No, you have bribed him. What did you slip him on your way in?"
Leander grinned, scratching under Moss's chin. "Nothing but affection. Can you blame him?"
Moss tilted his head to nudge Leander's hand harder.
Esther huffed. "I feed you, you ungrateful furball."
Moss didn't so much as glance her way.
Leander chuckled as he straightened, gently moving Moss aside to grab the empty crate. Moss sprawled dramatically across the counter in his absence, stretching into the exact spot Leander had just occupied.
"See you around," Leander said, flashing a grin as he walked toward the door.
Esther glared at the cat. "You're a disgrace to your ancestors."
Moss gave her a slow, lazy blink.
Leander paused at the door, tossing a glance over his shoulder. "Don't take it too hard. Some of us are just naturally gifted."
"Yeah, yeah. Get out."
As the door swung shut, Esther stared down at Moss, who was licking his paw with the air of someone inspecting his nails after a job well done - eerily similar to the way Leander had just looked at his own.
Her eyes narrowed. "Great. Now there's two of you."
Moss ignored her entirely, stretching luxuriously as if he couldn't hear such petty accusations.
Notes:
The poem they are referring to at the beginning of the chapter is "Stufen (Steps)"written by the German author Hermann Hesse in 1941.
"Every beginning has its own magic, protecting us and helping us to live."
The poem highlights the significance of changes and new beginnings in life.