Her Resistance
Divya sat on a stone bench near a cluster of rich, peach-orange blossoms, finding a fleeting refuge from the nightmare inside the mansion.
She leaned forward, her fingers hovering near the velvety petals, and asked the elderly gardener with genuine, quiet curiosity, "What are those? The ones that look like delicate roses?"
The gardener offered a gentle, weathered smile, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Those are Juliet roses, Madam. They're exceptionally rare, and very fragile. In this heavy monsoon season, we have to treat them with organic care just to protect their petals from the damp dark spots."