In a small, sun-drenched village nestled between the hills and the river, there lived a kind and clever farmer named Cutis. His land wasn’t the largest, but it was lush, rich, and full of life. Rows of vegetables grew neatly in his garden, chickens clucked happily in their coop, and, in the center of his farm, stood a tall grove of papaya trees—strong, green, and heavy with golden fruit.
But Cutis was not just known for his hardworking hands or his delicious papayas. He was best known for how lovingly he cared for a small girl named Yen Nhi.
Yen Nhi was no ordinary child. She had arrived at Cutis’s doorstep a year ago, wrapped in a blue blanket, her eyes wide with wonder and worry. She had no family that anyone knew of, and the villagers feared she might be abandoned. But Cutis didn’t ask questions. He scooped her up into his arms and gave her a home, a warm bed, and all the love in the world.
Every morning, the rooster crowed before dawn, and Cutis was already awake. He’d make a small breakfast—usually boiled eggs and rice with slices of fresh papaya—and gently wake Yen Nhi. She’d rub her sleepy eyes, clutch her little teddy bear, and giggle when Cutis greeted her with a silly song.
“Time to shine, little sunflower! The papayas won’t wait!”
After breakfast, Cutis carried Yen Nhi to the orchard. She wasn’t strong enough to work the fields, but she loved to watch him harvest. Perched on a soft mat under the trees, she’d clap when he reached high up with his bamboo picker and gently twisted the ripest fruits down. Each time a papaya landed in the basket with a soft thud, she’d beam like it was magic.
Cutis always picked with care, checking each fruit for the perfect shade of orange-yellow, a sign it was ready for market. Yen Nhi helped in her own way—pointing out ones she thought looked extra big or cheering when Cutis found a bunch of sweet-smelling ones.
When the baskets were full, Cutis loaded them onto his bicycle cart. Before they left for the market, he’d always make sure Yen Nhi had her straw hat and a bottle of cool water. Then off they’d go, down the winding path through the village, the cart squeaking with every bump
At the market, Cutis had a little wooden stall with a bright sign: “Fresh Papaya from Farmer Cutis!” The fruits were arranged like treasures—gleaming, plump, and inviting. Regular customers came not just for the fruit, but also to see Yen Nhi. She would sit beside the stand, drawing pictures or giving shy smiles to the buyers.
“She’s growing fast!” the neighbors would say.
Cutis always nodded proudly. “Stronger every day.”
Selling papaya wasn’t just business—it was joy. Cutis offered samples on little toothpicks and told customers how to make his famous papaya salad. Yen Nhi handed out napkins and giggled when people told her how sweet the fruit was.
Once the market quieted in the afternoon, Cutis used part of the earnings to buy little treats for Yen Nhi—a new picture book, colorful hair ties, or a small pastry she loved. Then they’d head home, with the sun low in the sky and birds singing in the trees.
But Cutis’s care for Yen Nhi went far beyond feeding and playing. When she had a fever once, he stayed up all night, holding a cool cloth to her forehead and humming lullabies. When she wanted to go to school but was too nervous to leave his side, he walked her there every day until she was brave enough to go on her own. And when other children teased her for not having parents, Cutis knelt beside her and said, “You have me. And I’ll love you twice as much.”
The love between Cutis and Yen Nhi was something everyone in the village could feel. The other farmers helped him when he needed extra hands. The shopkeeper once gave Yen Nhi a free bag of candy “for being the bravest girl in town.” Even the mayor once offered to build a new swing for her under the papaya trees, just because he had seen how happy she was there.
As the seasons passed, the papayas grew even more plentiful. Cutis began expanding—adding mangoes, bananas, and even a little herb garden. Yen Nhi loved to name all the plants and talk to them as if they were her friends.
One rainy morning, as they sheltered under a large banana leaf during their walk, Yen Nhi asked softly, “Uncle Cutis, do you think I’ll be a farmer like you one day?”
Cutis smiled. “You’ll be whatever you want to be. But if you do become a farmer, you’ll be the best one ever. Even better than me.”
Yen Nhi beamed. “Then I’ll grow the sweetest papayas in the world. Just like you.”
That day, Cutis realized something important. He wasn’t just growing fruit. He was growing a life. A family. A future.
One evening, during the village’s harvest festival, Cutis and Yen Nhi set up a special papaya booth with a sign she painted herself: “Yen Nhi & Uncle Cutis’s Papaya Magic!” People lined up for a taste. Children ran around with sticky fingers and laughing faces. Yen Nhi wore a little crown made of flowers and handed out slices with pride.
A woman visiting from the city stopped by the booth and said, “You two look like a perfect team.”
Cutis chuckled. “We are. She’s the boss. I just do the picking.”
The woman bought two papayas and walked away smiling.
Later that night, under the stars, Yen Nhi fell asleep in Cutis’s arms, a smile still on her face.
And as the fireflies danced and the orchard rustled in the breeze, Cutis looked out at the papaya trees and whispered, “Thank you.”
Because the land had given him fruit. But Yen Nhi had given him love.
