For their 21st birthday, they didn’t go out drinking, like most people would. Their grandmother, who’d flown over four hours to come see them, begged them to stay home and spend time with her. Not one to turn down family, of course they obliged. They sat with her for hours as she conversed warmly with them, failing at trying to inconspicuously hide a small, ribboned box from their sight. She complimented their garden, how lush and healthy it looked. They replied modestly that they only did their best for it.

Finally, she gave it to them, just as she was leaving. She closed the door with a wave and a smile as they opened the box. Inside was a forest green pendant, so ornate it nearly glowed. Was it jade? They weren’t sure. Either way they smiled with endearment for their sweet old grandmother and put it on, clipping it around your neck. And then they went to tend to their garden before the sun set below the horizon.

Outside, beneath the hazy orange glow, they toiled in the dirt, wiping sweat from your brow as they weeded a carefully tended wisteria plant that twined around their deck. The graceful thing had its own flower bed, so that it wouldn’t strangle their other plants. They were just finishing up when they felt a soft touch on their back. They went to wave away what they were sure was just a vine that’d drooped down or been dislodged, but nearly jumped out of their skin when it wound around their wrist.

“You’ve loved these so beautifully,” a soft, silken voice murmured in their head, “I can tell.”