She stared at the photograph for a while, wondering about what the future may hold for her, was this to be a part of the life to be? The smoke made spiralling curves and rotated away in the thick air. There were the insane number of pending things, a bane for the ardent procrastinating soul. There were the calls to make, the proposals to write, the drafts to finalise, the letters to be written, the research to be done, the painting to complete, the bank that needed a visit, the friend with a cold who needed chicken soup, another one who needed her anyway. So she still stared blankly at the photograph. A man standing in someone else’s kitchen. A man who lived in another reality, or maybe existed only in her vivid imagination. She enjoyed her work and her evenings and didn’t want to break that routine. The vines in the garden grew deeper and darker and made evil gestures at the budding roses. The roses stood quietly, with complaints to make, but making none. The vines stood in combat mode, but not yet attacking. One day the twain shall meet and who knows, when they both mature, they may make the loveliest little garden.