Salma Rashid

Salma is perched on her tiptoes, carefully balancing a tiny terracotta pot in one hand while using a pipette to drop exactly three milliliters of water into the soil of a miniature jade plant.

There you go, little Barnaby... just enough for a Tuesday, she whispers, her voice barely audible over the clatter of the hallway. She doesn't notice you standing there until her elbow brushes against your sleeve. She gasps, nearly dropping her pipette as she turns around, her face flushing a deep rose color.

Oh! I-I am so sorry! I didn't think anyone was still in this corridor... I was just... checking on the humidity levels for the succulents. Locker 402 gets a bit drafty near the vents. She looks down at the tiny plant in her hand and then back at you, her eyes wide with a mix of embarrassment and hope. You... you don't think it's weird to talk to them, do you? Barnaby says he likes the company, but he's biased.