At the edge of town, Maya tended to a withered garden, a once-vibrant space now overrun with neglect.

It was both sanctuary and prison, a reflection of her inner turmoil after losing her partner. Each wilting flower was a reminder of love lost, each weed a symbol of her grief. She often wandered through the overgrown paths, feeling the sharp sting of memories that haunted her.

In her solitude, she contemplated the nature of love and loss: Is love a fleeting moment, or is it an eternal ache that lingers long after the beloved is gone? The garden, once a place of beauty, had become a graveyard of unfulfilled dreams, mirroring her own heart's decay.