Nina knelt in the warm garden dirt and dug a small hole with her fingers. A hard pebble-tiny thing pressed against her palm — a seed. She patted the soil over it and whispered, "Hello."
Every morning Nina filled her blue watering can and poured water over the spot. She waited. Nothing. Her lower lip pushed out, and she sat back on her heels with a loud puff of air.
Day after day Nina brought water to the little patch of dirt, but the soil stayed brown and dry. She pressed her ear close and whispered, "Please grow?" Then she stood up and said, "Okay, I'll keep trying."
On the seventh morning, a bright green thing pushed up through the dirt with a tiny crack Nina heard over the birdsong. She dropped to her knees so fast her watering can tipped over and spilled.
A smile broke across her face as she pointed at the two perfect little leaves. "You did it!" she breathed.
Nina watered the sprout each day and watched it stretch taller, its leaves growing wider and greener.
One morning a pink button formed at the tip, and Nina sat beside it, resting her chin on her knees, waiting.
She waited. And the garden held its breath with her.
