𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅, 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔.

Weirdo.

The word popped up in his head as his gaze followed a certain upperclassman standing by a window of the hallway. He was acting quirky again, mumbling to the pot of a plant on the windowsill.

“What are you doing, senior?” the spectator asked timidly. His shoulders stiffened when the older high school student turned his head to him.

The upperclassman gave him a blank stare for a second or two before his expression broke into a grin. “Oh, it’s you. I’m talking to this prayer plant,” he answered as if talking to an existence that didn’t have any concept of language was a very normal thing to do.

“You’re praying to it?” the younger lad wanted to know, his voice still small. The few feet of distance between them remained as he didn’t dare go near him.

This senior did not intimidate him, but they lacked a close relationship, which could be his reason to be chummy with him either. They weren’t strangers to each other, nor were they friends.

A snicker escaped from the older student’s lips. “No? That’s not it. I’m just helping it grow. You know what they say about plants growing faster when you talk to them?”

He pursed his lips, unsure of what to say. His gaze went to the plant in question, examining the cream-colored stripes on its wide green leaves. He had no idea what his senior was talking about, but he pretended to listen.

“When I was a kid, I learned from my mom that these are also called prayer plants because their leaves tend to fold at night like praying hands. It’s also because of that trait that they’re believed to symbolize a new beginning.”

This man had always come across as someone with a carefree demeanor, so the serious tone seemed out of his character.

“A new beginning?” the junior mumbled.

“Yep. To turn over a new leaf.”

The younger student gasped, his eyes widening as he finally understood what the upperclassman meant. He hesitated for a moment before asking, “You said they are also called prayer plants. Then what is their other name?”

It wasn’t as if he had developed any interest in the plants, but he didn’t mind playing along if it meant he could talk with this senior for even a few more seconds.

The older one shifted, so he was now facing the other fellow. Whether it was because of the sunbeam falling across his golden blonde hair or because of the warm expression on his face, he appeared to be glowing.

With a soft smile, the senior student answered, “Calathea.”