Chapter 3: First Sprout
The morning sun peeked through Eli's window, spilling golden light over his small bedroom. He blinked awake, already thinking of the garden.
The first green shoots were still tiny, but he could see them thriving under the care he gave. Each little sprout seemed to tremble in the sunlight, reaching for warmth and life.
Eli hurried through breakfast, his grandmother smiling knowingly at him.
"You're excited again," she said.
"I can't help it," Eli replied, his eyes sparkling. "They're growing! I can feel it!"
He rushed outside, feeling the cool breeze brush against his cheeks. The garden looked alive in a way it never had before. Tiny green tips pushed through the soil in uneven lines, as if they had learned patience while waiting for someone to notice them.
Eli knelt down carefully. His fingers brushed the earth, loosening it gently around the sprouts.
"Grow strong," he whispered. "You can do it."
Days passed, and more sprouts appeared.
Some struggled, bending under their own weight or wilting slightly in the harsh sun. But Eli never gave up. Each morning he watered, cleared weeds, and whispered encouragement to the fragile plants.
He learned their patterns—when to water, when to shield from the sun, and when to just leave them alone. The garden was teaching him patience, and he realized that caring for something else had a way of changing him too.
One afternoon, while adjusting a small wooden fence around the seedlings, Eli noticed movement from the corner of his eye.
A little bird, bright and curious, had landed on one of the taller weeds. It chirped softly and hopped closer to the sprouts, pecking gently at the soil.
Eli froze, unsure if it would harm his plants. But the bird didn't. It seemed to inspect the garden, nodding its tiny head as if approving.
"Even you can see it," Eli said with a laugh. "It's alive, isn't it?"
That evening, Eli and his grandmother sat by the gate. The sky was painted pink and orange, and the wind carried the faint scent of the earth.
"You're doing well, Eli," his grandmother said softly.
"I'm learning," Eli replied, smiling. "Not just about plants… but about patience, care… even hope."
His grandmother nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Every seed needs time. And sometimes, so do we."
That night, Eli went to bed feeling something he hadn't felt before—pride. Not just in the garden, but in himself. The sprouts were small, yes, but they were proof that his care mattered.
And deep beneath the soil, unseen roots began to spread, stronger than before.