A Tree of Love and Memories

A Story of Love. A Story of Home.

Image Source : Freepik

Last night, I sat on the veranda, wrapped in the quiet of the evening, when I heard a soft rustling from our mango tree. It was dark, and I couldn’t see anything, but something about that gentle sound stayed with me.

The next morning, curiosity led me to the tree. I looked up, and my heart melted — a tiny bird’s nest sat safely among the branches. A little home, swaying with the wind, filled with quiet warmth.

This mango tree is not just a tree. It is a dream — my mother’s dream.

She always wanted a mango tree in front of our home, with a seat beneath it. A place to sit, talk, and watch the world slow down. So years ago, we planted a small sapling. It was fragile, barely reaching my knees.

But dreams grow when they are loved. And so did our tree.

Now, that tiny sapling stands tall and strong, its branches heavy with golden mangoes. The seat beneath it isn’t just a seat — it’s where laughter lingers, where long conversations unfold, where moments turn into memories.

My mother loves plants. Our home is filled with them — bright flowers, lush green leaves, each carrying a piece of her heart. And now, it is mango season. The air is sweet with the scent of ripening fruit. We have three kinds at…