Between the houses, past the tangled hedge, there was an empty lot. Weeds and cracked dirt. Nothing at all.
She knelt and dug her fingers into the soil. It felt warm. In her pocket, a small wooden box — ten seeds she didn't remember finding.
She planted the first seed near the fence and waited. A bird hopped over and pecked the dirt right where she'd buried it.
She sighed and moved to a new spot. A second bird followed. She dug a little deeper this time.
With her dented tin cup, she watered each seed. Then she walked down the street and asked for help.
Mrs. Chen brought a broom. Tariq carried a crate for tools. The lot wasn't empty anymore.
Weeks passed. Green shoots pushed through the dirt like tiny fists breaking through.
One evening, the first flower opened — bright orange, bigger than her face. All the children gathered around it.
The garden exploded — red tomatoes, curling beans, flowers in every color. Neighbors came with bowls and baskets.
Nour stood at the center of it all, covered in dirt, smiling. Someone pressed a ripe tomato into her hand.