He didn't stop typing, but his response came smoothly. "New idea. But we'd need a pilot test with a small group to see how they react. Get their comments."
Then, after a short pause, he added, "And why the fairy?"
The question caught Mira off guard.
Her mind raced. Was the fairy a problem? Why did he ask? Didn't he like it? He was a scientist, after all—something like a fairy didn't seem logical or real. Maybe he thought it was childish.
She hesitated for a brief second before answering. "Well… to tell the truth, it first comes from my personal interest." She let out a small breath and continued, "Secondly, a fairy is cute." She realized that sounded too similar to the first reason and quickly added, "Plus, they're small. The idea of shrinking into a new world is spectacular—it creates that sense of surprise, a wow moment. It makes people feel thrilled, overwhelmed, impressed."
She glanced at him, trying to read his reaction, but his face remained unreadable.
"When they have a strong impression," she pressed on, "they'll remember the plants more. And storytelling helps reinforce memory—technical terms are really hard for normal people."
Silence stretched between them.
Adrian had stopped typing. His eyes, calm and focused, turned to Mira.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Did I say something wrong? Is it bad? Or… is it good?
For the first time in their meeting, she felt unsure.
Adrian continued, his voice steady as ever. "The story needs illustrations. And drawing skills. Can you handle that?"
Mira felt a small wave of relief wash over her. He wasn't rejecting it.
"I'll develop the idea and content," Mira said quickly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "I already talked with Ren—his hobby is drawing manga, and he agreed to help."
She paused to sniff. Then sneezed—once, twice, and again, each one more pitiful than the last.
"Excuse me," she muttered, blinking rapidly. "Ugh, sorry. Anyway. I'll need your help too—to cross-check if my content in normal words matches the correct scientific meaning."
Before he answered, he reached into his pocket and, without a word, placed a small folded packet beside her hand. The familiar matte paper, faintly warm.
She looked at it. Then at him.
"…What's this?"
"Fermented yuzu and ginger," he said quietly. "You're clearly catching something."
Mira blinked, startled.
"Oh. I—thank you."
She stared at the little packet like it had materialized out of thin air.
For a moment, Adrian said, "Let me know when you're done."
Mira couldn't stop herself—pride and excitement bubbled up inside her. She clenched her fists and said, "Yes!"
Instead, she looked past the screen, her voice quieter now. "Adrian… can I talk to you about something else?"
He stopped typing. "What is?"
She hesitated. Then, softly: "The Fairy Tour is wonderful—it'll draw people in. The aesthetic, the story. But I've been thinking a lot about what else we could do. Something that goes deeper."
She paused, choosing her words carefully. "There are kids out there—especially in migrant communities, or places touched by conflict—who've gone through things no one their age should. Trauma is… quiet. Invisible. And so often ignored. Especially when there's no diagnosis, no support, no one who notices."
Adrian didn't move. Just listened.
"I keep wondering—what if our work with plants could be more than just academic or visual?" she said. "What if it could help people like them? What if we made something… meaningful?"
Now he looked at her.
She continued, eyes steady. "Imagine a program, a series of workshops. For youth affected by trauma or neglect. Not therapy, not charity—but a space where science, culture, and healing meet. Where we teach them not just about rare and medicinal plants—but about how their own minds can grow and adapt. About resilience."
A beat passed. She added, "We blend basic science with culturally rooted knowledge—like the herbal remedies their grandparents might still use. We show them these traditions have value. That their stories matter."
Adrian leaned forward. "You're describing cognitive empowerment through plants."
Mira smiled a little. "Yes. And post-traumatic growth. But it has to be gentle. Creative. Not clinical. That's why I was thinking we could include drawing, too. Music. Sensory exploration."
Adrian's brow lifted slightly. "Neuroplasticity," he said.
Mira blinked. "Exactly! The idea that the brain changes. That we can heal, adapt. Just like roots finding new paths in rocky soil."
Then she laughed. "Noah's a violinist. Ren's a mangaka. We've got art and music covered. I'll lead the sessions. And you—you're you. I think we might have the perfect team."
She expected him to nod thoughtfully. Maybe offer to think about it.
Instead, without a word, Adrian slid her laptop closer and began typing.
Mira blinked. "Wait—what are you—?"
But his fingers flew across the keys, so fast the screen blurred. He wasn't just typing—he was building. A full curriculum, session by session.
Adrian didn't answer with words. Instead, he pulled the laptop closer, his fingers already flying across the keyboard. Mira leaned in without thinking, eyes following the lines that appeared on the screen as if by magic.
Week One: The Brain is a Garden
Introduce the concept of neuroplasticity through sensory play and metaphor. Planting seeds. Tracing root systems. Memory mapping.
Mira's breath caught slightly. She shifted closer to read more clearly, and without realizing it, their shoulders touched. He didn't move away. Didn't even blink.
Week Two: Weathering the Storm
Build emotional literacy and resilience through outdoor activity. Use mindful breathing. Create space for shared stories and safe conversations.
It was like watching someone write out her thoughts before she'd even said them aloud.
Then came—
Week Three: Rooted in Culture
Exploration of ancestral plant knowledge and its links to well-being. Drawing and storytelling as tools for connection.
Mira whispered the title before she could stop herself. "Rooted in Culture…"
She glanced sideways at Adrian. He was fully focused, typing as if the ideas weren't being created but remembered—as if they had always been waiting there, just under the surface.
He added session after session—each one tied to a learning objective, a healing goal, a creative activity. Drawing. Journaling. Tactile games. Music therapy is woven subtly into each session.
They kept working. Side by side. The screen glowed softly in front of them.
Mira didn't even realize how close she'd leaned in until her arm brushed his again.
But neither of them pulled away.
Mira's eyes sparkled as she scanned the screen, her heart racing with excitement. The plan Adrian had generated so quickly was far more than just an outline now—it was detailed, it was tangible, and it was everything she had hoped for.
Before Adrian could answer, Mira's hands moved, almost without thinking. She gave his arm a quick, excited squeeze, her fingers barely noticing the firmness under his sleeve. Her eyes were wide, her whole face glowing. Her voice was high with excitement, "Adrian, this is—this is amazing! You've actually made it real."
He froze for half a second. Just half. Then looked down at her hands still clinging to his arm—but didn't move.
"Uh," he said, slightly dazed, "This is nothing."
When he finally leaned back, Mira was quiet for a long beat, reading the plan again. Then she nodded slowly. "I can't believe you just pulled all of this together."
"No," he said, pausing just long enough to glance at her, "your idea is. In a good way."
Mira said, voice softer than before.
"I just… think we should do something for the kids who can't afford to dream right now. They've already been through enough."
Then she smiled, still not looking away from the screen. "I'll send it to you. And the others. See what they think."
"By email?"
"Yeah. I'll ask for their thoughts first. Then we can talk through everything next meeting. If everyone's in…"
She glanced at him, eyes sparking with purpose. "I'll reach out to community centers. Maybe schools too. Let's make it real."
For once, Adrian didn't have a sarcastic remark. He just nodded.
Frankly, working with Adrian was stressful. He was distant, an infamous genius, and seemingly impossible to please. She always worried she might say something wrong. But now, as the tension eased, she felt like herself again.
Breaking the silence of the quiet study room, she smiled and said, "I'm really happy that the plan worked out. Honestly, looking at your serious face, I was afraid you'd reject the idea."
Adrian was still typing, his eyes fixed on the screen. He didn't realize that, for the briefest moment, a faint smile crossed his face.
The work finished earlier than expected—unsurprising, considering Adrian's near-photographic memory. He recalled the details of hundreds of species, their long scientific names, key references, and special notes without a second thought. Meanwhile, Mira could barely remember a handful of them.
She didn't hesitate to express her admiration. "Your memory is insane. I don't know how you do it, but this made everything so much faster."
Adrian barely reacted. "This is nothing. Do you need anything else?"
"So far, this is more than enough," she said, stretching her arms. "I'll let you know if there's anything later."
She began to gather her things, flipping through her notebook to check where they'd left off.
Adrian, still beside her, reached down and took the pen she'd set aside.
Without a word, he leaned slightly over the open page and wrote something in the margin—neatly, directly, just above the last line of notes. She glanced over, puzzled.
A phone number.
Before she could speak, he returned the pen to the table.
"For coordination," he said, tone even. "If anything changes."