The Slowest Garden
2 min read · Generated by Playla AI
Kabir wanted a garden. Not just any garden — the best garden in the entire neighbourhood.
He planted seeds on Monday. By Tuesday, he was digging them up to check if they'd grown.
'Kabir!' his grandmother scolded. 'You can't rush a seed.'
'But I want flowers NOW.'
Grandmother handed him a watering can. 'Water them. Talk to them. Then walk away.'
Kabir watered. He talked. ('Grow faster, please.') He walked away. Then he came back eleven minutes later to check.
Nothing.
A week passed. Two weeks. Kabir's friends had already moved on to their next hobby. But Kabir kept watering.
On day twenty-two, a tiny green shoot broke through the soil. Kabir screamed so loud the neighbours came out.
'It's a PLANT!' he yelled, pointing at a sprout the size of his pinkie.
By summer, his garden was the wildest, most colourful tangle of flowers on the street. Sunflowers taller than him. Marigolds that glowed like tiny suns. Jasmine that made the whole lane smell like a dream.
His grandmother sat on the porch, sipping chai, watching him water his flowers with a patience he'd grown along with them.