In a small greenhouse at the edge of town, there was a plant unlike any other.
To anyone passing by, it looked ordinary — green leaves, pale stem, nothing special. But the woman who cared for it noticed something strange.
Every morning, at exactly the same time, the plant opened its flowers. And every evening, without fail, it closed them again. Not unusual, perhaps — some flowers follow the sun. But this plant didn’t need the sun. Even on cloudy days, even in darkness, even when covered completely, it opened and closed on schedule.
It was as if the plant was counting time.
The First Test
Curious, the woman moved the plant into her windowless cellar. No light. No hint of the sky.
She waited.
The first morning, the flowers opened at the exact same moment they always did. The first night, they closed on cue. Day after day, they never failed.
The plant didn’t just follow the sun — it knew the rhythm of the days.
A Stranger Secret
Then something even stranger began.
One evening, the woman whispered aloud, “I wonder if you know me.”
And the next morning, the plant bloomed earlier than ever before.
She thought it was chance. But each time she spoke to it, it changed. Once, she asked for it to bloom later — and it did. Another time, she asked for it to wait three days before opening — and for three silent mornings, it remained closed. On the fourth, it exploded with blossoms.
The plant was not just counting days.
It was listening.
The Burden
Word of the plant spread, and people came to see it. Some asked it for blessings: to bloom on a birthday, to mark a wedding, to open for a funeral.
But the woman noticed something troubling. Each time it obeyed, the leaves grew weaker, the stem paler. It was as though the plant was giving a piece of itself away.
One night, she dreamt the plant whispered back: “I will count for you… but each count is my life.”
The Twist
Now the greenhouse is empty. The plant is gone.
Some say it withered because it gave away too many days. Others believe it still exists, hidden, waiting for someone who will not use it for wishes but simply sit beside it in silence.
Because sometimes, a gift is not meant to be measured — only cherished.
