No Fair Worry

One evening on midsummer day cooling wind was blowing gently through the orchard leaves carrying the scent of ripe guavas and damp earth to long distances. Roma standing barefoot in the middle of the orchard; her hands on her hips and watching intently the to the fruit trees. She had always loved this hour of the day—when the world grew quiet and serene.

Meanwhile Siam arrived just; his bicycle squeaking a little under him as he coasted to a stop. His hair was windblown, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. He looked up at Roma, shielding his eyes.

You look like you’re waiting for a revolution!” he said with a grin.

“I’m waiting for you, actually,” Roma replied with a slim smile on her face; nodding toward the orchard. “We’ve got work to finish.”

Siam sighed playfully but stepped off his bicycle. “ We have always got so many things to do, this orchard never runs out of things to ask from us.”

They walked side by side between the rows of trees. The orchard was small; only a couple of acres, inherited from Roma’s grandfather. Most people in town said it belonged to Roma's family for decades.

Roma had refused to sell it, despite good offers. “It’s not just land,” she always said. “It’s memory, it’s promise.”

Siam respected that; even if he didn’t always understand what makes Roma saying so.

“So Siam began reaching for a low-hanging guava, “what’s the worry today?”

Roma didn’t answer right away. She crouched beside a patch of wild mint growing under one of the older trees. “You have ever felt like we’re just—killing time?” she said finally. It seems so if the world’s running ahead and we’re here… with dirt under our nails and baskets of fruit?”

Siam while eating the guava hurriedly . “Every day; he said, “But then I think—what’s the hurry?”

Roma laughed a little and said. “Easy for you to say but you’re not the one whose uncle keeps calling with plenty good offers saying ;‘Just sign, Roma and take the money, start something real something great.’”

Siam tossed the guava seed into the grass. “You already have something real and great; Look around.”

They stood quietly, watching the trees shift in the breeze. A few fireflies blinked into existence.

“I’m scared, Siam,” Roma admitted. “What if this orchard never grows enough? What if I end up with nothing but aching hands and regret?”

Siam knelt beside her. “Then we’ll share the regret,” he said it feelingly.

Roma looked at him. “You mean that?”

He nodded. “This place may be small but it’s honest; not many things are these days and if we tend it right, maybe it gives back. Maybe not in riches but in something better and quite real.

She smiled by herself. “Guavas are good.”

“Damn right,” he said.

They sat together, the grass cool beneath them. The orchard began to hum with night sounds—crickets, the low hoot of an early owl, the faint rustle of a hedgehog or squirrel. The wind carried the warmth of the day away.

“I had this dream last week,” Roma said suddenly. “I was walking through the orchard but it was bigger,huge in endless rows. There were kids laughing, people picking fruit, someone was playing a guitar. I don’t know who but it felt alive just like the land itself was smiling.”

Siam didn’t laugh or dismiss her. He just leaned back and said, “Sounds like the future is knocking.”

“Or a delusion,” Roma muttered.

“Same things; sometimes,” he replied. “But dreams don’t have to be fair or perfect just possible.”

Roma watched the stars emerge above the tree line. “No fair worry, huh?” she murmured.

“What’s that?”

“Something my grandfather used to say. ‘No fair worry, Roma. You plant today ; tomorrow comes with its own answers.’”

Siam stood and offered her his hand. “Then let’s keep planting.”

She took it, rising to her feet. They walked toward the tool shed together, fireflies lighting their path like tiny lanterns.

Behind them, the orchard waited—quiet, humble, and full of promise.