I never thought that my simple vegetable garden in the backyard would become such a thrilling experience. Petchay was the first one I planted. I watered it every day, even talked to it sometimes, just to make sure it grew well. But even though I was so careful, I never expected that Grandpa Teban would be the first to taste—or rather, eat—my petchay.
Grandpa Teban, our widower neighbor. Still handsome despite his age. Deep voice, strong body, and always dressed in warm clothes when the weather is hot. I often catch him peeking over the fence while I am leaning over and busy digging. When we look at each other, he smiles—the kind of smile that seems to have substance.
One afternoon, while I was watering the garden in just my shorts, I noticed Grandpa peeking over the fence. “Looks like your petchay is ready to be picked, little girl,” he said, glancing at my slightly sweaty chest. I smiled and jokingly replied, “Do you want to be the first to pick, Grandpa?”
He came over, entered our gate as if on a mission. “If you allow me, maybe I can handle it better than you,” and approached my garden. He looked at the petchay, but I felt like he was really looking at me. Especially when I noticed his eyes were fixed on my legs while I was bent over.
When he picked the first petchay, he did so slowly. “You have to be gentle, it might hurt,” he whispered as he rubbed the soil on the leaf with his fingers—long, rough, but with a strange warmth. I swallowed, but I forced a smile. “You seem to have experience with delicate things, Grandpa.”
He lingered in my yard. He didn't just pick a petchay. It seemed like he wanted to explore something deeper. And I, I couldn't deny that I was tempted by every caress of his voice, by every glance of those eyes that seemed to be tempting.
To be honest, I don't know if Grandpa's goal was really just vegetables. But that afternoon, I felt like he had harvested something special—and I felt something special too. That thrill mixed with heat. That tenderness with a hint of temptation.
I will never forget that day. Yes, Grandpa Teban was the first to pick my petchay. But maybe he picked more than just vegetables… maybe my attention, and if I'm not careful—maybe my heart too.
