From his office window, Markus Markussen watched a figure he did not recognize. He blinked, certain his eyes were deceiving him. What was a young woman doing in his garden, her hands clad in yellow gloves, moving with a determination in every gesture? She pulled weeds with a precision that suggested she could tell exactly where a wanted plant ended and an unwelcome guest began.
Her movements were rhythmic, almost like a dance with nature, so different from the stiffness of the professional gardeners he had hired before Emil took over everything. Karl, his assistant, entered the room, and Markus gestured toward the window without looking away. “Where is Emil today? There’s a woman working in the garden.
”
Karl stepped over to the window and nodded as if the situation were perfectly normal. “That’s his daughter, Freja Markussen. Emil called this morning. He has a cold.
He said he would send his daughter since he knew it was important to get everything ready for Friday’s reception. ”
Markus nodded slowly, surprised by a feeling he could not quite name as he watched her. There was something hypnotic about the way she worked, completely absorbed in her task, unaware she was being observed. In his world, women obsessed over how they were seen, always conscious of the impression they made, always playing a role.
This woman, on the other hand, seemed to exist entirely in the moment, in perfect harmony with the soil and the plants. “It’s the first time I’ve seen her,” he commented, more to himself than to Karl. “She studies botany at the university,” his assistant replied. “She helps her father sometimes, but usually only when they’re traveling.
She’s not working here as a gardener. She’s just covering for her father. From what I understand, she’s one of the best students in her faculty. ”
The information fascinated him even more.
He turned back to the window just as Freja stood up, wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her arm, and left a small smudge of dirt on her skin. The gesture was completely unconscious, completely natural, and it stirred something in him he could not identify. How long had it been since he had felt such genuine curiosity about another human being? “Bring her some water,” he ordered suddenly.
“It’s hot out there. ”
Karl raised an eyebrow but obeyed. “Right away. ”
While his assistant walked out, Markus’s mind drifted to the last charity gala he had attended.
Lærke, his companion that evening, had spent the entire night worrying about whether her makeup was still perfect, whether her designer dress was attracting the right attention, whether the photographers were capturing her from her best angle. It was exhausting, like all the relationships he had had in recent years: superficial, calculating, based on what he could offer as one of the most successful businessmen in the country. The memory stung with regret. In his mid-thirties, he had achieved everything he had ever strived for: the international expansion of the technology company he had inherited from his father, the recognition of the industry, a considerable fortune that allowed him to live in any conceivable luxury.
And yet there he sat, feeling an inexplicable envy for the peace radiating from that unknown woman simply doing her work in the garden. Outside, Freja accepted the water bottle Karl offered her with a brilliant smile. Markus could not hear what they were saying, but he watched her laugh, a natural laugh, not the social calculation he was used to hearing. Then she looked up and saw him.
Their eyes met through the glass, and she offered a small, unpretentious wave before turning back to her work. That evening, Markus found himself in his study, unable to concentrate on the reports in front of him. His mind kept drifting back to the garden. He thought about the way Freja moved, the way her fingers had touched the plants with such care, the way the setting sun had caught her hair.
For the first time in years, he felt a genuine desire to know someone, to learn about them beyond the labels and positions. The next morning, he found himself walking through the garden instead of going straight to his office. The sun was bright, and the air was fresh with the scent of dew on the grass. He spotted her almost immediately, kneeling beside a flower bed, her fingers deep in the soil.
She did not notice him until he was a few steps away. “Good morning,” she said, looking up. There was no trace of nervousness or sycophancy in her voice. “Good morning,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I trust everything is to your satisfaction? ”
She tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “The garden is beautiful. It seems well cared for.
Is there something specific you need? ”
“No, no,” he said quickly. “I just wanted to thank you for stepping in for your father. He’s been doing this for years, and I appreciate the continuity.
”
“Of course. He didn’t want to let you down. He’s very proud of this job. He talks about the garden all the time.
”
Markus found himself looking at the garden with new eyes. “I suppose I don’t spend enough time out here. Running the company keeps me busy. ”
“It shows,” she said with a hint of playfulness.
“The roses over there need pruning. And these hydrangeas could use more shade. ”
He blinked, surprised by her directness. “Is that so?
”
“You asked,” she shrugged, brushing the dirt off her hands. “I’m just being honest. Your head gardener is excellent, but I don’t think he’s paid attention to the areas that need love the most. Not because he doesn’t care.
He’s just overstretched. ”
Markus found himself curious. “What do you mean? ”
Freja pointed toward a shaded corner where a patch of wilting plants grew.
“You see those? They’re not getting enough light because they’re being choked by the vines. It takes time to notice things like that. And time is something you probably don’t have much of.
”
He studied her for a long moment, then looked at the corner she had indicated. “And what would you recommend? ”
She seemed surprised by the question, but then her face lit up with a smile. “Well, I could show you if you’d like.
But I’ll need to bring some tools and maybe a pair of gloves for you. ”
The idea of Markus Markussen kneeling in the mud beside a young gardener was so ridiculous that a laugh escaped his lips. “Gloves, then. ”
They spent the next hour in the garden together.
Freja showed him how to identify the choking vines, how to trace them back to their roots and remove them without damaging the plants they were smothering. She spoke with enthusiasm, explaining the psychology of plants, how some supported each other while others competed, how even the soil itself was a living ecosystem. He listened, fascinated not just by her knowledge but by her genuine passion. “This is relaxing,” he said after a while, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“I never thought I would say that. ”
“Of course it is,” she said. “Gardening is about patience. You can’t force a plant to grow.
You can only create the conditions and let it do what it needs to do. Most people don’t have that kind of patience anymore. ”
“And you do? ”
“I’ve had to learn it,” she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I had to learn to be patient with my own growth. It doesn’t come naturally to everyone. ”
Markus sensed a deeper meaning in her words. “What do you mean?
”
She shrugged, a shadow crossing her face. “Let’s just say that the path I’m on wasn’t always easy. I didn’t always look like someone who belonged in a university. People make assumptions when they see you, especially when you don’t fit their idea of what a person should be.
”
He remembered what his assistant had said about her, about people looking at her a certain way at the galla. “It makes me sad,” he said, surprising himself with the admission. “The way people judge others without knowing them. ”
Freja looked at him, her eyes searching his face.
“It is sad,” she agreed softly. “But it also helps filter out the people who aren’t worth knowing. The ones who see beyond the labels, the ones who can look you in the eye and see you for who you are, those are the ones worth keeping. ”
Their eyes met, and Markus felt something shift inside him.
“I organized a small gathering this evening,” he said, the words coming out before he could stop them. “A few business associates and their wives. I think I’m expected to attend. But I’m not sure I’m in the mood for that kind of company.
”
“That bad? ”
“Let’s just say that most of them are more interested in what I can do for them than in what I have to say. ”
She smiled sympathetically. “That sounds exhausting.
”
“It is,” he admitted. “But I don’t seem to know how to have any other kind of social life. ”
Freja tilted her head, considering something. “Well, if you’re looking for something different, I might know a place.
It’s not far from here. We could talk about plants and the nature of the universe, and no one will expect you to be anyone other than who you are. ”
He caught the cautious hope in her voice, the same hope that flickered in his own chest. “I’d like that,” he heard himself say.
That evening, they drove to a small teahouse at the edge of the old town, a place that had probably once been a farmhouse. The inside was cozy and warm, with various teas served in mismatched cups and wooden tables worn smooth by years of use. Freja ordered a blend she described as having notes of honey and saffron, while Markus, who was used to only the finest, found himself charmed by the simplicity of it all. “This place is special,” he said, looking around.
“I’ve never come across it. ”
“It’s a hidden gem,” she agreed. “It looks like it hasn’t changed much in the last hundred years. That’s part of its charm.
It doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone. ”
Their conversation flowed with surprising ease. She told him about her studies, about a professor who inspired her, about the time she spent an entire summer traveling through France to study lavender fields. He told her about his father, about the pressure of taking over the company, about how he had spent so many years building an empire only to realize he was alone in the middle of it.
“It sounds like you don’t do this often,” she said softly. “Talk like this. ”
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I don’t.
I’ve been busy. I’ve been safe. I’ve been everything I thought I was supposed to be. I don’t think I’ve been very happy.
”
Freja reached across the table and placed her hand on his. “You can be happy, Markus. You just have to be willing to let someone in. ”
The touch sent a jolt through him, more intense than any nervous energy he had felt in years.
He looked down at her hand, small and warm, resting on his, and then back at her face. “Freja,” he began, but she shook her head. “You don’t have to say anything,” she said quietly. “I just wanted you to know that I see you.
The real you. Not the CEO, not the heir to a fortune. Just you. ”
Somewhere between the second cup of tea and the darkness falling outside, he realized that he did not want this evening to end.
For the first time in a long time, he felt wholly present, wholly alive, completely seen. “Can I walk you home? ” he asked as they stepped out into the cool evening air. She smiled.
“I’d like that. ”
They walked in comfortable silence through the quiet streets, past old stone buildings and manicured gardens, until they reached a small apartment building near the university. Freja paused at the entrance, turning to face him. “Thank you for this evening, Markus.
I really enjoyed it. ”
“No, thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I haven’t felt this… I don’t know the right word.
Real. ”
She smiled, and in that smile he saw the same spark of hope that he felt in his own heart. “Good night, Markus. ”
“Good night,” he echoed.
He watched her walk inside, and when she disappeared from view, he stood there for a long moment, feeling as though the ground had shifted beneath his feet. He didn’t remember deciding anything, but somewhere in the depths of his heart, he knew with absolute clarity that she was different. That she was someone worth knowing. Over the following weeks, they fell into a quiet routine.
He would find excuses to wander through the garden, and she would show him the newest blooms, the progress of the vegetables, the way the light fell across the pond at certain hours of the day. He learned that she loved herbal tea but hated the taste of coffee, that she cried at old movies and laughed at her own jokes, that she had a quiet strength that had nothing to do with positions or titles. She learned that he didn’t like loud parties, that he preferred the quiet of his study with a book to any social function, that he had a deep-seated fear of failing the people he cared about even though he had never told anyone before. One afternoon, they sat on a bench near the rose garden, the petals fluttering softly in the breeze.
Freja leaned back and closed her eyes, tilting her face toward the sun. “It’s beautiful today,” she murmured. “It is,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at the sky. He was looking at her.
She opened one eye and caught his gaze. “What? ”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just thinking.
”
She sat up, watching him with a knowing smile. “Thinking about what? ”
He hesitated, fingernails digging into the wood of the bench. “About how different things feel lately.
About how easy it is to be myself when I’m with you. About how I don’t have to pretend. ”
Her expression softened. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Markus.
You never have. ”
“Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. She was quiet for a long moment, and he feared he had overstepped. But then she reached out and took his hand, and he felt his heart begin to race.
“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” she whispered. They sat there, hands intertwined, the garden around them humming with quiet life. A weight lifted from his chest, leaving him lighter, freer, more alive than he had felt in years. “Freja,” he said, his voice rough.
“I know this is fast, but I’m not good at waiting. Not for things that matter. ”
A smile played on her lips. “What are you trying to say?
”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, then stopped himself. This was too soon. They had only known each other for a few weeks. But the thought of losing her was unbearable.
“I’m trying to say,” he began carefully, “that I would like to spend more evenings like this with you. That I would like to introduce you to the people in my life who aren’t worth knowing. That I would like to see if this is the beginning of something real. ”
She slipped her other hand over his, her eyes glistening.
“I’d like that too,” she said. “And I don’t want any payment for this,” he felt compelled to add with a nervous laugh, referencing the fragile trust between them. Over the next few months, their connection deepened. He met her father, Emil, who watched from a distance with quiet approval.
She met his mother, who saw past Markus’s public persona to the lonely boy he had once been. They attended events together, and for the first time, Markus didn’t feel like he was playing a role. Freja was the only one who truly saw him, and being with her felt more real than anything else in his life. One evening, at the same small teahouse where they had their first real conversation, Markus took her hands across the table.
His heart hammered in his chest. “Freja, I never imagined I could feel this way about anyone. I thought I was content with my life, but I wasn’t. I was just existing.
You showed me what it’s like to truly live. ”
She squeezed his hands, her eyes searching his face. “I know it hasn’t been long, but I don’t need time to know what I want. ”
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a ring, a single emerald set in a band of gold, the exact shade of her eyes.
“Then I have a question for you. ”
She gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Markus. ”
“Freja Markussen, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?
”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she nodded, a radiant smile breaking across her face. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, yes, yes. ”
He slipped the ring onto her finger, and she threw her arms around him.
He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, the warmth of her, the wild, impossible hope of everything they could be together. “I love you, Freja,” he murmured. “I love you too, Markus. ”
They sat together for a long time, wrapped in each other, as the world went on around them.
And for the first time in Markus’s life, the world felt like it was finally moving in the right direction. That night, under a sky heavy with stars, they walked through the garden that had brought them together. The scent of roses filled the air, and the silver light of the moon bathed everything in a soft glow. He stopped in the middle of the herb garden and turned to her, taking both of her hands in his.
“Do you think they know? ” he asked, nodding toward the dark windows of the house. “Who cares? ” she whispered, and she kissed him.
And under the stars that had witnessed the quiet beginning of their story, they stood together, two people who had started as strangers in a garden and ended up as two souls finally home.