I bought a plant because the shop had put it beside a handwritten card that said, in very calm letters, low maintenance. I believed the card completely.
For the first week I checked the soil every morning. By the second week, the leaves had begun to look like they were quietly asking for a different owner.
We have since reached an arrangement. It gets a spot near the window, I stop moving it around to make the room look better, and neither of us pretends this is a botanical triumph.
There is something comforting about caring for a living thing imperfectly. It has made the room feel more like home, even if the plant remains unconvinced.