Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

“They are. Not like you and me, but in their own way.”
“Are there ghost plants?”
Hugo stared at him, mouth agape.
Wallace scowled at him. “Don’t give me that look. You told me to ask
questions.”
Hugo closed his mouth as he shook his head. “No, it’s not—I’ve never
thought about it that way. Curious.” He squinted up at Wallace. “I like where
your mind goes.”
Wallace looked away.
“No,” Hugo said. “I don’t think there are ghost plants, though it would be
wonderful if there were. They’re alive, yes. And maybe they respond to
encouragement. Or maybe they don’t and it’s a little story we like to tell
ourselves to make the world seem more mysterious than it actually is. But
they don’t have a soul, at least none that I’m aware of. That’s the difference
between us and them. They die, and that’s it. We die and—”
“End up at a tea shop in the middle of nowhere against our will,” Wallace
said bitterly.
Hugo sighed. “Let’s try something else. Did you like being alive?”
Taken aback, Wallace said, “Of course I do.” His expression hardened.
“Did. Of course I did.” It rang false even to his own ears.
Hugo brushed his hands against his apron as he stood slowly. “What did
you like about it?” He continued on down the row of plants.
Against his better judgment, Wallace followed him. “Doesn’t everyone
like being alive?”
“Most people, I think,” Hugo said. “I can’t speak for everyone. But you’re
not most people, and no one else is here, which is why I’m asking you.”
“What do you like about it?” Wallace asked, flinging the question back at
him. He felt skittish, irritation growing.
“Many things,” Hugo said easily. “The plants, for one. The earth beneath
my feet. This place. It’s different here, and not just because of what I am or
what I do. For a long time, I couldn’t breathe. I felt … stifled. Crushed. Like
there was this weight on my shoulders and I didn’t know how to get it off.”
He glanced back at Wallace. “Do you know what that feels like?”
He did, but he wasn’t going to admit it here. Not now. Not ever. “You’re
not my therapist.”