Papa rubbed his hands and looked around the plain rooftop. “Let’s make a tiny garden together,” he said. Vivaan’s shoulders stayed stiff for one more moment, but then his eyes followed Papa to the old buckets and cracked pots by the railing.

“Which ones can be plant homes?” Papa asked. Vivaan tapped a dented tin, a chipped mug, and the biggest bucket. “Mint here. Tomatoes here. And this one,” he said, his first smile peeking out, “for the bravest plant of all.”