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    • The Last Lemon Tree 

      In a quiet village nestled between green hills and whispering forests, there stood a cozy cottage with a garden unlike any other. The garden belonged to an elderly woman named Nana Abeba, and it was famous for one special thing — a tall, bright lemon tree that produced the juiciest, most golden lemons anyone had ever tasted. 

      Every morning, Nana Abeba would tend to her garden wearing a wide-brimmed hat and humming soft tunes. Villagers often stopped by to greet her and buy lemons for their teas, pies, and medicines. Children would gather under the shade of the lemon tree, listening to Nana’s magical stories about talking animals, brave explorers, and trees that whispered secrets. 

      But one summer, something changed. 

      The sun blazed hotter than ever, and the rain forgot to visit. One day, Nana noticed that the lemon tree’s leaves had begun to curl and fade from vibrant green to pale yellow. The flowers had fallen early, and not a single fruit had appeared. 

      Nana tried everything. She adjusted the watering schedule, added compost from her compost bin, and even placed a small mirror near the base of the tree to reflect more light. Still, the lemon tree stood silent and bare. 

      “It’s just getting old,” she told herself sadly, placing a gentle hand on its trunk. “Like me.” 

      That weekend, Lila, Nana’s 10-year-old granddaughter, came to visit. She arrived with her backpack, a notebook full of doodles, and a heart full of excitement. She had always loved helping Nana in the garden. 

      But this time, something was different. 

      “Nana,” Lila said, looking up at the tree, “where are the lemons?” 

      Nana Abeba sighed. “The tree is tired, my sweet. It hasn’t given fruit in months.” 

      Lila walked around the tree thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s lonely,” she whispered. “Everything needs friends—even trees.” 

      That night, as crickets chirped and the moonlight bathed the garden in silver, Lila wrote in her notebook: Tomorrow I will help the lemon tree. I believe it just needs a little love. 

      The next morning, she got to work. She planted bright sunflowers beside the tree because she read in a book that some plants grow better with companions. She added lavender and rosemary, too, to bring new scents and flavors to the garden. And every day, she read aloud from her storybook to the tree, pretending it was listening. 

      “Once upon a time,” she would begin, sitting cross-legged under its branches, “there was a magical lemon tree that forgot how to grow... until someone reminded it.” 

      Weeks passed. The wind became cooler, and the clouds began to return. One morning, as Nana was sipping her tea on the porch, Lila ran up to her, eyes wide. 

      “Nana! Come quick!” 

      There, nestled among the soft green leaves, were tiny green buds. The lemon tree was coming back to life. 

      Nana Abeba’s face lit up like sunshine. “Oh, my stars,” she whispered. “The tree just needed someone to believe in it again.” 

      That fall, the lemon tree bloomed brighter than ever. Villagers returned, the children gathered once more, and Lila began telling her own stories under the tree’s shade — stories about hope, patience, and the magic of kindness. 

      From that day on, Nana and Lila became the heart of the garden. And the tree, once thought to be the last of its kind, stood tall and proud, full of lemons — and surrounded by love.