Zayna dug a small hole in the soft earth near the date palm. She placed a brown date seed inside, patted the dirt over it, and whispered, "Grow fast."
The next morning she ran to the spot — only dirt — and frowned, kicking a pebble. "Grow!" she told the ground.
She watered the spot every day and sang a silly song to it. Each time she checked, the dirt stayed still.
She built a tiny leaf umbrella for shade and sat down with a huff, her shoulders slumping. Nothing ever happened.
Grandmother sat beside her and placed a wrinkled hand over Zayna's. "Allah's plans bloom in their own perfect time," she said softly, pointing to the swaying fronds above.
Zayna watched a single leaf tremble in the breeze — then gasped as a tiny green sprout pushed through the dirt.
She watered the sprout each day, counting its emerging leaves. One, two, three — they kept coming.
Grandmother smiled and braided Zayna's hair under the palm's cool shade. The courtyard felt quiet and happy.