The Garden We Built Together

It all started with a simple idea.

One day I said to my friend: “Let’s turn this corner of the yard into a garden.”

It wasn’t meant to be anything big. A few herbs, a few flowers, a few small plants.

But once we got started, I realised some things grow far more than we expect.

Together we turned the soil, sowed the seeds and waited.

Nothing happened in the first days. Just soil and a few tiny green dots.

Then, slowly, the sprouts came up. The herbs grew bigger and the flowers opened.

Every time I looked at the garden, I felt we had planted something more than a few plants.

It was as if we had planted a part of our own lives.

Having come from another country, perhaps I understand the meaning of “having roots” more than many.

Migration had taught me that roots don’t always mean staying in one place.

Sometimes you can take your roots with you. Sometimes you can put down roots again somewhere new.

And maybe friendship is one of those roots.

Now when we pick herbs from that garden, they are not just fresh herbs.

They remind us of the day we touched the soil together and decided to plant something.

Something that was meant to grow with patience and care.

Maybe life is like that too.

We sow. We water. We wait.

Sometimes nothing grows. Sometimes a flower suddenly blooms.

And sometimes we have to learn that not everything is in our control.

But what matters is that we still have something to plant.

For me, this garden isn’t just a corner of my friend’s yard. It is a small piece of my life in this land. A place I built with my own hands.

A place where Persian herbs grow beside the flowers of this home.

And perhaps this is the most beautiful picture of migration:

That you come from one place, yet you can build something beautiful somewhere else too.

And I still smile every time I look at that garden.

Because I know we didn’t just plant plants here.