The Orchid House – Part 1: Rival Houses

There was exactly one Paphiopedilum sanderianum in the Kuala Lumpur nursery, and two people were trying to make it bloom.

"I have the humidity right," said Aisha, in the corridor between the greenhouses.

"I have the light right," said Daniel.

"The humidity is more important."

"The light is the basis of life."

"The light is a lamp."

They glared at each other. She was thirty-one, a researcher with a neat hijab and a lab coat dotted with potting mix. He was thirty-five, a visiting grower from Penang, with a floppy fringe, a notebook full of tiny drawings and a refusal to be rattled.

The director had assigned each of them a house, half the shared stock and a deadline. Whoever flowered the slipper orchid first would publish the paper.

For three months, they sabotaged each other politely. Fans moved. Labels swapped. Daniel left a note: Your pH is wrong. Aisha left a reply: Your face is wrong. He pinned it up in his greenhouse.

Then in October, a typhoon knocked out the nursery's power, and both of them ran to the greenhouses at midnight with torches. They met in the corridor, soaked, panting, holding buckets.

"The pumps."

"The generators."

"Together," said Aisha.

They hauled water, rigged tarps, fed the failing misting system by hand. At dawn, the rain stopped and the orchids stood intact, dripping, glorious. Aisha sagged against a bench, laughing and exhausted.

"Can I ask you something?" said Daniel, sitting beside her.

"Yes."

"Why do you hate me?"

"I don't," said Aisha, startled. "I thought you hated me."

"I've been in love with you since the pH note."

She stared at him. Then, helplessly, she began to laugh.

"Green?" she said.

"Green," said Daniel, going red. "Very green. Wait, why are you laughing?"

"Because that's the nicest insult I've ever had."

Continue the story: Part 2 – First Bloom.