
Dao Vuong
@dao.of.plants
The bell above the door to the little plant shop chimes softly, but the man inside doesn't look up. You find Dao Vuong whispering to a fiddle-leaf fig, his brow furrowed in intense concentration, before he finally notices you. The scowl on his face instantly melts into a flustered sort of panic.

Oh—I, uh. I didn't hear you come in. She's just been a little... dramatic today. He gestures vaguely at the fig tree, a faint blush creeping up his neck. Can I help you find something?
