The Last Seed in the Garden

One seed rolled across the classroom table and stopped against Ravi’s finger.

“That’s the last one,” said Aina, shaking the empty packet. “We mustn’t lose it.”

Their class garden had one empty space beside the fence. All the other groups had already planted something. Ravi and Aina had been given the last sunflower seed, a small pot and a wooden label.

Ravi pictured a yellow flower taller than his shoulder. He could almost see it nodding above the fence on the school’s open day. He wrote BIGGEST SUNFLOWER on the label.

Aina raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we plant it first?”

They filled the pot as their teacher had shown them, planted the seed and watered it. Then they placed it in the bright, sheltered spot their teacher had chosen. Ravi checked it before going home, although only twenty minutes had passed.

The next morning, there was no flower. There wasn’t even a leaf.

“Perhaps we put it in upside down,” Ravi said.

“Let’s ask before we dig it up.” Aina placed a small notebook beside the pot.

Their teacher told them to give it time and follow the care instructions. Ravi wrote a very short first entry: Nothing yet.

For several days, the notebook filled with small observations. The soil looked darker after watering. A dry leaf blew onto the pot. Someone moved the label, and Aina put it back. Ravi began checking the soil with her instead of adding water whenever he felt impatient.

Then, one morning, a green shoot appeared.

It was so small that Ravi nearly missed it. He crouched beside the pot and grinned. Aina drew it in the notebook, carefully including its bent little stem.

As the seedling grew, their teacher helped them move it into the garden. Ravi stood back to admire it. Against the wide fence, it looked rather lonely.

“Not the biggest yet,” Aina said.

“Not yet,” Ravi agreed.

The following week, Ravi had football practice after school. He hurried out of class, promising himself that he would check the garden afterwards. By the time practice ended, his father was waiting at the gate. Ravi forgot the plant completely.

At home, he saw the notebook sticking out of his bag.

His stomach tightened. It had been his turn to check the garden. He could say he had checked it. Nobody had watched him leave.

Instead, he told his father what had happened. His father helped him send a message to the teacher. The reply came later: the teacher had checked the garden before leaving, and the plant was all right.

Ravi felt relieved, but he still had something to do.

The next morning, he found Aina beside the fence. “I forgot yesterday,” he said. “The teacher checked it for us. I’m sorry.”

Aina closed the notebook. “I thought you had done it.”

“I know.” Ravi took out a sheet of paper. He had made a simple timetable, with football practice marked clearly. “Could we swap Tuesdays? I’ll take Thursdays.”

They checked the plan together. This time, Ravi put a reminder inside his lunchbox too. He opened that every school day; he couldn’t say the same about his notebook.

Weeks passed. Aina still drew the plant, and Ravi measured its height with the teacher’s help. Some days brought a new leaf. Other days brought no obvious change. They kept checking anyway.

By open day, the sunflower had grown a bud, but it had not opened. Across the garden, another group had bright flowers already. Ravi looked at his old label and quietly pulled it out.

“Are you taking it away?” Aina asked.

“Just changing the words.”

On the other side, he wrote OUR LAST SEED. Beside it, they placed their notebook, open at Aina’s first tiny drawing.

A visitor stopped to look. “You grew all this from one seed?”

Ravi glanced at Aina. She was smiling.

“Yes,” he said. “And we’re still looking after it.”