Back to the Garden
Laughter drifted faintly through the garden—soft, fractured, edged with tears.
Maya pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to smother the shaky laugh that had slipped out. Not from humor, but from being cracked open—raw, exposed, overwhelmed.
“You really are something else,” she whispered, shaking her head at Harper. “I envy you… I wish I had your boldness, your courage, and that whole ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude.”
Harper tilted her head. “Maya, why the hell should I live my life worrying about what people think—if the cost is bottling up who I really am? No thanks. I don’t give a f**k. Not because I’m wild, but because I’ve learned the hard way—playing small for others just makes you disappear.”
She leaned in, voice low but fierce, and the garden around them—quiet,
