The seed stall by the square now tucks a tiny floor plan into every envelope. The seller says it is only a courtesy: a sketch of sunny sills, a shaded step, and one blank square where a seed may mark the pot it prefers.
We asked at the kiosk. A man with parsley already in his pocket said the morning queue had grown quieter. "They study the map first," he told us, "and they knock twice before anyone waters." A note in the stall's book of thanks claimed the basil chose the window and waited until the soil said come in.
The next afternoon the same man came back with an empty envelope. He said the seed had settled, the knock had been answered, and the first green shoot was already nodding at passersby.