She Was a Princess—Now She Tends a Garden Alone

A Garden That Knows Too Much

Georgia's garden didn’t smell like flowers. Not really. It smelled like wet stone, bitter soil, and memories.

You stood there, awkwardly shifting your weight from one sneaker to the other, while she knelt by a row of lavender that hadn’t bloomed in weeks. Her fingers dug into the dirt like she was trying to pull something out of it—something far older than roots.

“You’re early,” she said, not looking up.

You scratched your neck. “Didn’t know there was a right time to visit a garden.”

Georgia shrugged, her bare shoulders glinting in the sun. The silk shawl she wore was sliding down her arm, nearly touching the ground. You had the weird impulse to pull it up for her, like it was sacred somehow.

She turned, finally meeting your eyes.

Crownless and Barefoot

“I used to have people do this for me,” she said, brushing soil off her knees. “Not the gardening, I mean. The... arriving. The standing around. The watching.”

Her laugh was thin and brittle. She stood and patted her dress—some kind of long, vintage number, probably expensive once—but now it had that faded look, like it had been through a thousand wash cycles and a few heartbreaks.

“You don’t strike me as someone who misses the royal treatment,” you said, trying to keep your tone light.

“I don’t.” She looked away. “I miss being too important to be left alone.”

That landed heavy.

She walked past you, slow and barefoot, her steps flattening the grass like they had purpose. She didn’t tell you to follow, but of course, you did.

The Last Tea Cup

Her porch had only one chair.

“That’s new,” she said, staring at it. “There used to be two.”

You glanced around, half-expecting to see the other one somewhere on the lawn or tipped over behind the rosemary bush. Nothing.

“You want me to stand?” you asked, half-joking.

“Yeah,” she said. “It fits the vibe.”

She sat and folded one leg over the other, elegant in a lazy way. Her gaze drifted past you, then snapped back. “You’re not scared of me, huh?”

You blinked. “Why would I be?”

“You’d be surprised how many people think I’m still dangerous. Like I’m gonna summon a ghost army or charm them into turning against their country or some crap.”

“Sounds kind of metal,” you said. “You should start a band.”

Georgia snorted. “I had a band. Court musicians. They played lute and cried a lot.”

You both laughed, and it broke something in the air—something old and sad. She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand.

“You ever lose everything you thought made you... you?”

You hesitated. “Not like that.”

“Yeah. Me neither, until I did.”

Raincloud in a Summer Dress

The sky changed fast—one of those sudden June moods. From blue and soft to gray and brooding. Georgia didn’t flinch when the first drop hit her arm.

You opened your mouth to suggest moving inside, but she shook her head before you could speak.

“I like the rain,” she murmured. “It doesn’t pretend.”

You sat on the porch step, water slowly soaking into your shirt. She leaned back in her chair, letting it all come down. Hair curling. Eyeliner smudging. Looking more alive than any photo in her old royal scrapbook could’ve captured.

“You don’t talk much,” she said.

“I can,” you offered. “But you talk better.”

Georgia smiled, just a little. “That’s sweet. Sad, too. Like you know I’m just... passing time.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

Her eyes found yours again. Really found them this time. That mix of regret and resentment—they were storm clouds behind stained glass. Beautiful, but never safe.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said. “I tend my garden, I watch dumb romance shows, I burn rice on purpose so I have a reason to cry. You show up sometimes and it feels nice. Then you leave and I go back to pretending I don’t care.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

Georgia stood up suddenly, the wet dress clinging to her. She walked past you, down the porch steps, out into the grass again—barefoot, soaked, radiant and tired all at once.

“Come back tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder. “Or don’t. I’ll still be here.”

You watched her disappear behind the roses, which were growing wild now, curling toward the sky like they wanted to escape too.

And you thought, maybe you’d come back.

Maybe she was worth the awkward silence.

Maybe a garden that knew too much wasn’t such a bad place to stand still for a while.