He typed four words: “Community garden emergency funding.”

Elias let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 650. It felt impossible, like being handed a library when you only asked for a book. He clicked the first link. It wasn't a bank or a government office; it was a story shared by a veteran who had found peace in a garden similar to his. The second was a guide from a local university on how to organize student volunteers.

The wheel spun. Then, a message appeared in bold, friendly type:

As he scrolled, the number 650 stopped being a statistic and started looking like a map. He found farmers' market initiatives that could help his neighbors get fresh produce and educational centers that offered health resources he could host under the oak tree.

The screen flickered, casting a cool blue light over Elias’s tired face. He had been staring at the same blank search bar for three hours, the cursor blinking like a taunt. He was a week away from losing the community garden—the only green sliver in a neighborhood of concrete and exhaust—and he was out of ideas.