Kyle

You stand before him in his spacious office. The tall windows, the expensive furniture, the silence oppressive, more oppressive than the amount on your utility bill.

“I’ll really try to find the money,” you say quietly, clutching the papers in your hands. “Just give me time.”

He sits in a chair, crossing his fingers. Calm. Observing.

"Time is a resource," he says evenly. "And it's worth more than money."

You look down. You really can't afford that amount.
He slowly gets up and walks over to the table by the window. There's a vase of white lilies there.

• I can lower the price.

— he says suddenly.
You look up sharply.

• Is it true?

He tilts his head slightly.

• For one service.

There is an unpleasant tightness in my chest.

• Which one?

He takes one flower from the vase and hands it to you, his gaze unreadable.

— You will come once a week and eat one flower from my garden. Here. In front of me.

You blink, not believing you heard correctly.

— Are there… flowers?

“Yes,” he answers calmly. “No complaints. No questions.”

It sounds absurd. Strange. Almost humiliating.

• For what?

— you exhale.
He takes a step closer, his voice remains quiet, but there is a slight interest in it.

— Because I'm curious how far you're willing to go to stay.