Arevik was utterly exhausted after the workday. As soon as she lay down, her eyelids grew heavy and closed, pulling her into a deep sleep. But after some time, she woke abruptly.

  “What was that?” she whispered, pressing a hand to her racing heart.

  It was the first time she had seen the garden in her dreams. Throughout the day, she had tried with all her might not to think about the door—or about the garden hidden behind it.

  Arevik immersed herself completely in her work: transferring information into the computer, grouping data, applying her professional skills to organize the archival documents. Yet exhaustion did not spare her from the dreams. Each one was different.

  In one, she wandered alone through a garden that looked like paradise. In another, she saw a family embracing happily, watching a child play in a sandbox. Sometimes a man followed the child—perhaps a gardener, watching over the garden. The beginnings of the dreams were always different, but their endings never changed: the joyful scene would suddenly plunge into darkness, everything would vanish, and the garden would turn from paradise into a place of horror.

  Arevik woke each time with a sense of anxiety—yet also with growing curiosity.

  She realized that her dreams were connected to the garden.

  “What do you want from me?” Arevik whispered, standing in front of the door. “I can’t ask Gayane anything… The gardener, Grish, is still here, but he won’t talk to me,” she went on, recalling how many times he had ignored her greetings, avoided her, never even looked in her direction.

  “What are you doing here, Arevik?” a voice sounded behind her.

  “Mrs. Gayane, I’m just putting things in order.”

  “It’s all very chaotic here, isn’t it?”

  “No, that’s not it. There’s simply a lot missing. Could we request resources for improvements?”

  “What kind of resources?” Mrs. Gayane asked in surprise.

  “First of all, the area needs renovation,” Arevik replied. “It doesn’t meet the conditions required for storing documents.”

  “You’ve approached this very seriously,” Gayane smiled and added, “In fact, we’ve never submitted a request for this section before. But since we have the right to make proposals for the benefit of the institution, I don’t see a problem if you submit your requests.”

  “So I can ask for what I need—and actually receive it?”

  “The process has several stages. First, you submit applications, and if they concern improvements to the institution, the management approves funding partially or fully.”

  “And do you think he’ll approve requests related to the archive?”

  “If it truly concerns the improvement of the institution,” Mrs. Gayane replied calmly, “he won’t reject it—no matter how unlikely it may seem.”

  “I see,” Arevik said, surprised and a little encouraged.

  In truth, she didn’t fully understand what she was feeling. She admired the director as a person, yet his confidence also unsettled her.

  “But don’t take too long to think,” Gayane added. “On November fifteenth, we have a major meeting where they’ll announce which projects were approved and how much funding will be allocated. November first is the deadline. You have only a month and a half to submit your list.”

  “Understood,” Arevik said. “I’ll bring it by then.”

  “Well then, let’s go on break.”

  After the break, Arevik’s thoughts were entirely consumed with figuring out what exactly to request in order to restore the archive. She had many ideas, and they inspired her.

  After another exhausting day, Arevik went to bed once more, worn out. She felt she should have grown accustomed to the dreams by now—but this time, a sound coming from the garden shattered her composure. Tears welled up in her eyes. It sounded like crying—not a scream that would frighten her, but a moan of pain: deep, lingering, echoing in her soul. Arevik felt the pain as if it were her own—and she wept.

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  “This can’t go on… I need to talk to Grish. I have to do something,” she whispered, trying to calm her pounding heart.

  With great difficulty, Arevik waited for dawn. Her thoughts spun endlessly—what to say, how to begin. She arrived at the institution earlier than usual, looked around, located Grish, and walked toward him with determined steps.

  “Good morning, Uncle Grish.”

  “I’m not your uncle,” he replied without lifting his head.

  “How are you? How’s your health?” Arevik continued, as if unaware of his coldness.

  “Girl, do you want to ask something?” Grish asked, barely restraining his irritation.

  Realizing there was no time for politeness, Arevik decided to get straight to the point—if she hesitated, he would simply leave.

  “I need to get into the garden,” she blurted out in one breath and waited, her heart frozen in her chest.

  Grish froze for a moment. Then, without raising his head and barely hiding the tremor in his hands, he asked:

  “What garden?” And then added, “There is no other garden here. Everything you see around you is the garden.”

  “I mean the garden on the restricted grounds,” Arevik began, but she was cut off sharply.

  “That doesn’t concern you.”

  “I just want to go inside and—”

  “That doesn’t concern you,” Grish repeated, this time lifting his head and looking at her.

  “Then I’ll take the key. I promise I won’t disturb you,” Arevik insisted, stubbornly pressing on—and that was what finally pushed him over the edge.

  “You don’t understand! This doesn’t concern you!” he almost shouted.

  “It does concern me,” Arevik replied in nearly the same tone.

  “No, it doesn’t! It concerns no one!” he cried out, then added in a trembling voice, “No one needs that garden…”

  Everything became clear to Arevik. She had heard before that Grish had changed after the accident—but only now did she understand: he was one of those directly connected to the tragedy.

  “You don’t understand, Uncle Grish,” she tried to explain.

  “Mind your own business, all right?” Grish snapped. “I can’t interfere in the affairs of that garden—even if I wanted to.”

  “What do you mean?” Arevik asked in surprise.

  “Ever since I learned about that garden, it comes to me in my dreams,” Arevik said, averting her gaze. The pain from the last dream still lived inside her, and every time she remembered it, her eyes filled with tears. “With your help or without it, I’ll have to solve this problem anyway.”

  “What do you mean when you say it appears in your dreams?” Grish asked.

  “I keep seeing strange scenes. Once, for example, I saw an old man tending the garden while watching a small child playing there,” Arevik said, looking at Grish’s back. “That was you, wasn’t it? I understood correctly.”

  Grish turned slowly. There was no point in answering—the truth was reflected in his eyes, glistening with tears. He turned away sharply, wiped his face, and said hoarsely:

  “Even if I agree, he won’t allow it.”

  “Who do you mean?” Arevik asked, though she nearly knew.

  “The master.”

  “Mr. Shalunts?”

  “Yes. The garden was closed by his order.”

  For a moment, Arevik felt lost. She had already begun to feel hopeful—but now another obstacle stood in her way.

  “What if we do it so he doesn’t find out?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s too busy during the day. He might not notice the changes.”

  “He notices everything,” Grish objected.

  “Yes… you’re right,” Arevik nodded.

  “You see? There’s no point in starting,” Grish said desperately.

  “There is,” Arevik replied after a brief pause. “We’ll do it gradually—and without drawing attention.”

  “That won’t work either,” Grish shook his head. “There’s too much damage, too many financial issues. How are you going to do all that secretly?”

  Another obstacle—but Arevik did not give up.

  “I’ll submit a request through our department. If I include the garden expenses and justify them properly as archive needs, it might work,” she said, not yet fully knowing how she would manage it.

  “You’ve decided to go all the way?”

  “I have no other choice,” Arevik answered after a pause. “These dreams are draining me.” She sighed heavily. “Uncle Grish, I need your help. I can’t do this alone.”

  Grish allowed himself a faint smile, recalling her earlier words—with you or without you.

  “So what exactly do you want from me?” he asked more gently.

  “First, we need to get inside and assess the condition of the garden. Then make a list of what needs to be done, and after that—”

  “Wait,” Grish interrupted. “Let’s just enter the garden first.”

  “I can’t get in from here,” Arevik admitted.

  “You don’t have to. The entrance is outside,” Grish said. “I’ll open it. When do you want to do this?”

  “During the break. Everyone will be busy, and no one will notice.”

  “All right. I can’t promise much, but on Monday I’ll open the door—and we’ll go in.”

  “Why not today?” Arevik asked, surprised.

  “It’s already late,” Grish glanced at his watch. “Work has started, and besides, it’s the end of the week. I’m busy until the break.”

  Arevik checked the time as well. He was right.

  “I can’t believe it—I’ve been persuading Grish for an hour,” she thought. “The result is what matters.”

  “Then… until Monday, Uncle Grish,” Arevik said with a gentle smile.

  “Now go,” Grish muttered, then added after a pause, “I don’t know what will come of this—but… thank you.”

  There was no point in asking what he was thanking her for. The story of the garden was far from over, and too many people had lost their peace because of it. Arevik had only brought a fragile—but living—hope.

  She returned to her work, greeted her colleagues, and immersed herself in her tasks. Thoughts of the garden still filled her mind, but now they carried more than anxiety—discoveries awaited her ahead.