The rain didn't stop for three days, turning the small town into a muddy blur of gray skies and sloshing streets. Kane wasn't bothered by the wet. To him, the rain was like a promise—quiet, unspoken, but always there. It made the earth smell fresh, like it was waking up from a long sleep.
His mother, Abira, didn't share his enthusiasm. She was constantly moving—mopping floors, straightening the edges of the house, checking the windows for leaks. She always seemed to be in a hurry, even when nothing needed doing.
Kane watched her, the same way he watched everything: quietly, without a word. He liked to sit by the window, his small face pressed against the glass, feeling the coolness of the world outside.
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy playing outside. It was just that there was something about being still that felt right. The other kids played soccer in the streets, kicking their balls between puddles, shouting and laughing with that loud energy that made the air feel heavy. But Kane wasn't like them. He liked the feeling of time slowing down, of the rain softening the sharp edges of the world.
One afternoon, as the rain finally let up, Kane's father, Dela, called from the doorway. "Get your shoes on, boy. We're going to the market."
Kane hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't want to go, but something in his father's tone told him that today wasn't going to be a usual trip. Dela wasn't one to offer explanations. He was a mason—strong, silent, and used to work. It had been that way since Kane could remember.
Kane nodded and put on his worn shoes, the ones his mother had patched up twice. He stepped outside, the wet ground squishing under his feet. The town was quiet now, the rain retreating like a secret.
As they walked, Dela didn't speak. Kane followed his father's long strides, his mind wandering. They passed the usual vendors, the smells of fresh fish, roasting meat, and warm bread filling the air. But Kane's attention was elsewhere, on the small things—the way the leaves on the trees shook in the breeze, the way the water ran in thin streams down the road, carrying bits of dirt and leaves with it.
"Why don't you play with the other boys?" Dela asked suddenly, his voice low and gravelly.
Kane didn't answer immediately. It was a question he'd heard often, but this time it felt different. The way his father looked at him was not with impatience, but something else—something Kane couldn't quite place.
"I don't like it," Kane said after a long pause.
"Why?"
Kane shrugged. He didn't know how to explain it. It wasn't that he disliked the other kids, or that he couldn't run and play. But when they played, it was like the world was moving too fast. There was a noise that filled the air, a constant shouting, a rush to be somewhere. Kane liked stillness—he liked watching things grow in their own time, without needing to force it.
His father didn't press him further. They continued their walk, the sound of their footsteps filling the quiet streets. When they reached the market, Dela stopped at the vegetable stand and started talking to the seller, leaving Kane to wander on his own.
Kane walked through the market, watching the hustle around him. People were laughing, bartering, shouting for attention. But Kane kept to the edges, his gaze drifting from one thing to the next—quiet, unnoticed. He stopped in front of a small shop where an old man was selling seeds. Bags of them—yellow, red, brown. Some of them looked familiar, but others were new to Kane. He ran his fingers over the rough sacks, feeling the tiny, unassuming seeds inside.
The old man noticed him. "You like seeds, boy?"
Kane nodded, intrigued by the idea of something so small holding so much potential.
"Each seed's got its own purpose," the old man continued, his voice soft and rasping. "Some grow fast, some take their time. But they all grow, if you give 'em what they need."
Kane's fingers lingered on a bag filled with small, dark seeds. The old man smiled.
"Not all things are meant to grow in the same way," he added, his eyes twinkling. "Just like you."
Kane didn't know why, but those words stuck with him as they walked back home. Something about them felt like a promise, like a secret he wasn't yet ready to understand.
That night, as the stars peeked through the still-damp sky, Kane sat by his window again. The moon was full, casting soft light across the garden. The mango tree stood quietly in the corner, its branches swaying gently in the night breeze.
Kane thought about the seeds. He thought about how something so small could hold so much. It didn't matter how fast or slow it grew—it just needed the right conditions.
His father's voice broke through his thoughts. "You'll find your place, Kane. Just give it time."
Kane didn't answer. He just stared out at the night, a quiet understanding settling in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't need to rush. Maybe there was a different kind of strength in waiting. A strength that didn't have to shout, but could still change the world.