Indeed, the garden motif recurs like a familiar refrain in literature. It offers a concrete space to chart a character’s internal cultivation, the pruning of habits, and the seasonal shedding of old selves. Think of Nabokov’s *Lolita* with its lush, manicured lawn that mirrors Humbert’s own manicured obsessions, or Steinbeck’s *East of Eden* where the garden of the twins reflects their moral bifurcation. It’s a convenient canvas because a garden can be both tender and ruthless, mirroring the ambivalence of human growth. The more I trace it, the more I see it as a kind of literary compass, pointing to transformation while reminding us of the fragile soil beneath.