The air inside the greenhouse was thick with warmth and the sharp, earthy scent of soil. Condensation clung to the glass panes overhead, sunlight diffusing through them in soft, milky bands that made everything feel hazy and slow. Rows upon rows of plants stretched out in neat, carefully tended lines, ferns unfurling, flowers blooming in loud bursts of color, vines creeping deliberately along their supports.
Mr. Molina walked ahead of the group with his usual enthusiasm, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the space like a proud curator.
"Alright, everyone," he called, raising his voice just enough to cut through the hum of whispers and shuffling feet. "This area demonstrates how sustainable practices directly affect plant health and growth."
Most of the students nodded vaguely. A few actually listened.
Bella lingered near the back, her eyes drifting absently over the leaves and petals, while Jessica stood a little ahead of her, arms crossed, clearly uninterested but determined not to look bored. Mike leaned close to Tyler, whispering something that made Tyler snort.
Mr. Molina stopped beside a large compost bin tucked into the corner of the greenhouse. The container was wide and sturdy, dark with age and use, its lid partially ajar. He crouched beside it, retrieving a large metal mug from a nearby shelf.
"Now," he continued, straightening up, "this is compost tea. It's made by steeping compost in water to extract nutrients and beneficial microorganisms. When applied correctly, it strengthens plant roots, improves soil health, and promotes overall vitality."
He dipped the mug carefully into a barrel beside the bin, lifting it slowly. The liquid inside was murky brown, faintly steaming, with tiny flecks of organic matter swirling lazily near the surface.
Tyler leaned forward, squinting. "Looks like coffee."
Before anyone could react, Mr. Molina turned, just in time to see Tyler snatch the mug from his hand.
"Hey—wait—"
Too late.
Tyler tipped the mug back and took a confident gulp.
The greenhouse went silent.
For half a second, Tyler looked triumphant.
Then his face changed.
"Oh my—" He coughed, sputtering as he bent forward, nearly dropping the mug. "That's—ugh—what is that?!"
Mr. Molina grabbed the mug back immediately. "That is not for drinking!"
A ripple of laughter spread through the group. Even Jessica cracked a reluctant smile. Mike doubled over, wheezing.
Bella blinked, startled, then covered her mouth to hide a small laugh.
Tyler wiped his mouth on his sleeve, horrified. "You said tea!"
"Compost tea," Mr. Molina corrected, trying—and failing—to look stern. "For plants. Not people. Please don't consume soil-based nutrients unless explicitly instructed."
"Pretty sure I'm gonna die," Tyler muttered.
"You'll survive," Mr. Molina said dryly. "But consider this a lesson in listening before acting."
The students snickered as Mr. Molina resumed his lecture, carefully pouring the compost tea at the base of a nearby plant. The soil absorbed it slowly, darkening as it drank in the nutrients.
"Growth," he continued, "isn't always about what looks appealing. It's about what sustains life beneath the surface."
Bella watched the liquid disappear into the earth; the metaphor not lost on her.
Sometimes the things that nourished growth weren't pleasant at all.
And sometimes, she thought quietly, people learned that the hard way.
[15 minutes Later]
Fifteen minutes passed beneath the filtered sunlight of the garden, long enough for the earlier laughter to thin out into murmurs and wandering thoughts.
The garden sat at the heart of the compound like a controlled oasisstone paths winding between raised beds of herbs and flowering shrubs, trellises heavy with climbing vines, benches placed deliberately beneath flowering trees. The air smelled cleaner here, damp soil and crushed leaves mingling with something faintly sweet.
Mr. Molina waved a hand dismissively. "Alright, stretch your, legs. Fifteen minutes. Stay where I can see you."
The students scattered with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Bella claimed a bench near the edge of the garden, close enough to the others not to draw attention, far enough to feel alone. She slipped her earbuds in, music filling the hollow space inside her head, something low and familiar, something she didn't have to think about. Her gaze drifted over the leaves, unfocused.
She didn't hear Edward approach.
She sensed him instead.
The subtle shift in the air.
The quiet certainty of his presence.
He stopped a few feet away, hesitating, an unusual pause for someone so effortlessly controlled.
"Hey," he said softly.
Bella pulled one earbud out but didn't look at him. "Hey."
He took that as permission and sat beside her, leaving a careful distance between them. His posture was tense, shoulders stiff, eyes scanning her face as if trying to read something she wasn't offering.
"Are you mad at me?" he asked.
The question landed heavier than it should have.
Bella turned to him then, really looked at him. "Are you going to tell me the truth about what happened during the accident?"
Edward exhaled, the faintest flicker of frustration crossing his expression before he smoothed it away. "Bella, I already told you—"
"No," she interrupted calmly. "You told me a version."
He stiffened. "It was adrenaline. It happens. People do things in extreme situations they normally couldn't."
She shook her head once. "No human moves that fast."
Silence stretched between them.
Edward's jaw tightened. He looked away, gaze settling somewhere beyond the garden beds. "You're reading into it."
"I'm not," Bella said. "I saw it."
He turned back to her, frustration bleeding through despite his restraint. "Why are you going to Jacksonville?"
The abrupt change made her blink.
"What?"
"You told Mike you were going," Edward said. "Why?"
She stared at him, incredulous. "Why do you care?"
"I just—"
"No," she cut in. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to avoid my questions and then interrogate me about my life."
His brows knit together. "I'm not interrogating you."
"You are," she said quietly. "And it's not your business."
Edward opened his mouth, then closed it again. His hands clenched briefly at his sides. "You don't have to answer everything like it's a challenge."
"And I don't have to forget what I saw just because it makes you uncomfortable," she replied. "You've been avoiding me. So why are you suddenly so determined that I let this go?"
His eyes darkened, not with anger, but with something closer to fear.
"Because it's dangerous," he said before he could stop himself.
Bella's heart skipped. "Dangerous for who?"
Edward inhaled sharply, clearly regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. "Bella—"
"So that's it," she pressed. "You want me to forget because it's inconvenient. Because it complicates things."
"It's not about convenience," he said, voice tight. "It's about protecting—"
"Protecting what?" she demanded.
He stood abruptly, pacing a step away as if proximity itself was becoming too much. "You don't understand what you're asking."
Her voice softened, but her resolve didn't. "Then explain it."
He turned back to her, eyes conflicted, lips parted as if the truth hovered just beyond his reach.
They sat in silence for a minute.
Her voice dropped, quieter but heavier. "As if you regret saving me."
That did it.
Edward turned fully toward her, his expression hardening. "Do you think I regret saving you?"
Bella searched his face, his eyes, his mouth, the way his shoulders held tension like a coiled wire. And in that split second, she saw it.
Not hatred.
Not anger.
Regret.
Not for her.
For himself.
"I think…" she said slowly, "you regret that I noticed."
Silence.
Before he could speak—
"Bella!"
Jessica's voice cut through the tension like a snapped string.
They both turned.
Jessica approached quickly, her earlier sadness still lingering at the edges of her expression—but now there was something brighter there too, something tentative and hopeful.
"Guess what?" she said, breathless. "Mike asked me to prom."
Bella blinked, surprised. "He did?"
Jessica nodded, smiling shyly. "Yeah. He just did. Like, out of nowhere." She glanced briefly at Edward, then back to Bella. "I said yes."
"That's great," Bella said, genuinely.
Edward stepped back, already retreating, his expression closed off again. "We shouldn't have been friends," he said quietly.
Then he turned and walked away.
Bella watched him walk away, his back straight, his movements controlled, but something about him felt unsettled now, like a decision deferred rather than made.
Jessica followed her gaze, frowning slightly. "Did I interrupt something?"
Bella shook her head. "No. Not really."
But she knew it wasn't true.
Because Edward hadn't denied it.
And neither had Aiden.
And somewhere between the hospital room, compost bin, and this garden bench, Bella realized the truth wasn't something being hidden from her anymore.
It was something being actively pushed away.
And she didn't intend to let it go