The Pomegranate Orchard
"Fatima tends her grandmother's pomegranate orchard alone—until Iraqi refugee Kareem arrives seeking work, and they discover that sweetness can grow from bitter soil."
The Pomegranate Orchard
The pomegranates hung heavy and crimson, jewels waiting to be cracked. Fatima worked alone as she had for five years, since her grandmother passed and left her this orchard and nothing else.
"You need help."
She looked up at the stranger—dusty, tired, with eyes that had seen things.
"I manage."
"The eastern trees are sick. I can see it from here." He moved closer. "I'm Kareem. I used to have orchards in Iraq."
"Used to?"
"Until I didn't." His shrug held worlds. "I'm looking for work. I know pomegranates."
She hired him. Watched him work—gentle with the trees, harsh with himself. He slept in the shed and asked for nothing.
"Why did you leave Iraq?" she asked one evening.
"Because everything I loved was destroyed. Including me." He touched a pomegranate blossom. "I'm trying to grow back."
"Can people do that?"
"I don't know. But trees can." He met her eyes. "Maybe if I'm near them enough, I'll learn."
The orchard flourished under his care. So did something between them—unspoken, growing like the fruit.
"You're beautiful," Kareem said one evening, surprising them both.
"I'm covered in pomegranate juice."
"I know." He stepped closer. "That's what I mean."
"Kareem—"
"I know I have nothing. I know I'm broken. But I feel less broken with you." His voice cracked. "Is that enough?"
"It's everything."
They came together among the trees, pomegranate juice staining their skin like wine.
"Ya Allah," Kareem breathed. "Fatima—I never thought I'd feel this again."
"Feel what?"
"Alive. Hopeful. Home."
He made love to her with desperate tenderness, two damaged people finding healing in each other's arms.
"Stay," she gasped. "Not just for work. For me."
"I'm not leaving. Ever." He kissed her. "This orchard is home now. You're home."
"Marry me," Kareem said afterward, a pomegranate split between them.
"We barely know each other."
"I know you saved me." He fed her a seed, ruby red. "Let me spend forever being grateful."
"Na'am," she said. "But you're teaching me about the sick trees. I want to understand everything."
"Everything takes time."
"We have time."
Around them, the pomegranates ripened—sweet, abundant, proof that life continued even after devastation.
Just like love.