Hazel knelt in the garden and pushed aside the broad green leaves. Something tiny and brown was hiding below. She traced its curling stem with a dirt-smudged finger and held her breath. Only she could see it.
She whispered to the sprout, her voice barely louder than a breeze. Only I see you, she thought, and the word settled between them like a secret. She stayed very still, afraid that even a breath might blow it away.
The next morning, Hazel poured a thimble of water onto the soil. The sprout drooped a little lower. She pressed her forehead against the cool fence rail and hummed a soft tune she had made up all by herself.
By afternoon, she dragged a flat stone to the shed and wedged it against the door. Sunlight poured onto the sprout like a gift. That night, the wind picked up and the stone clattered into the grass.
Hazel woke to find the stone lying in the grass and the sprout bending in the cold wind. She did not cry. She simply got to work.
She built a tiny wall of pebbles around the sprout, one by one, until it stood enclosed and safe. She stepped back and held her breath. The wind howled, but the pebble wall did not move.
The wind howled around the pebble wall and whipped the grass flat, but the little circle of stones held firm. Hazel stayed perfectly still and watched. The sprout trembled but did not fall.
Dawn broke pink and gold, and Hazel found the sprout standing tall with a single bud at its tip. The bud was pale pink, folded tight like a secret waiting to be told.
She dropped to her knees and let her fingers hover just above the petals, afraid to touch. The bud opened with a soft sigh, and the garden filled with a sweet smell.
Hazel watered the blooming sprout one more time, her hands steady now. She sat back on her heels and smiled at the flower, tracing the stem from the soil to the very tip of the petals.
The neighborhood began to wake up — doors opened, cars started, someone's dog barked. But in the garden, it was still just the flower and Hazel, and the quiet stayed with them.
Hazel stayed in the garden a little longer, watching the pink petals catch the light. She knew the flower would be here tomorrow, and the day after that. She had waited, and it had been worth it.