The morning sun rose gently over the small countryside village, painting the sky in warm shades of gold and pink. Birds chirped happily, and the air smelled fresh after a night of soft rain. Inside a modest wooden house, CUTIS quietly woke up earlier than usual. Today was not an ordinary day. His heart was full of excitement, responsibility, and love—because his mom was pregnant, and he had a special plan just for her.
CUTIS knew very well that pregnancy was not easy. He had seen his mom wake up tired, walk slowly, and sometimes press her hand gently against her belly with a soft smile mixed with discomfort. Lately, she had been craving sour fruits, especially sour mangoes. Every time she talked about them, her eyes would light up, but she always said, “It’s okay, we can get them another day.” CUTIS listened carefully. In his young heart, he made a promise: I will get them for Mom myself.
Behind the village, beyond the rice fields and small dirt paths, stood a tall mango tree known by everyone. The mangoes on that tree were famous—green, hard, and extremely sour. Children loved them with salt and chili, and pregnant women believed they helped ease nausea and cravings. But the tree was not easy to reach. It grew near a rocky area, and the branches were high. Adults usually went together to harvest from it.
That morning, CUTIS packed a small woven basket, tied his shoelaces tightly, and whispered to himself, “I can do this.” He didn’t want to wake his mom. He wanted it to be a surprise—a gift from his hands to her heart.
As CUTIS walked toward the mango tree, villagers began their day. Some were sweeping yards, others feeding animals. When they saw CUTIS walking with a basket, they asked, “Where are you going so early?” CUTIS smiled shyly and replied, “I’m getting sour mangoes for my mom.” The villagers exchanged looks, their faces softening with pride. “Be careful,” one old man said. “You’re a good son.”
When CUTIS finally reached the tree, he looked up and swallowed hard. The mangoes hung high, shining green against the leaves. For a moment, fear crept into his chest. What if I fall? What if I can’t reach them? But then he thought of his mom, sitting at home, rubbing her belly, smiling gently. That thought gave him strength.
CUTIS searched around and found a long bamboo pole left by farmers. Carefully, he lifted it and tried to hook the mangoes. The first few attempts failed. The mangoes swayed but didn’t fall. Sweat rolled down his forehead, and his arms began to ache. Still, he didn’t give up.
“Come on, CUTIS,” he encouraged himself softly.
Finally, with a strong but careful push, thud! A mango dropped to the ground. CUTIS’s eyes widened with joy. He laughed quietly, picked it up, and placed it gently in his basket. One by one, he continued, resting when he needed to, always careful not to rush. After some time, the basket held several beautiful sour mangoes.
Just as he was finishing, a few villagers arrived, having heard about his mission. Instead of scolding him for coming alone, they smiled warmly. One woman helped him lower a mango safely, while another checked if he was tired or hurt. “Your mom raised you well,” they said. CUTIS felt his chest fill with pride—not for himself, but for his mom.
The walk home felt lighter, even though the basket was heavier. CUTIS imagined his mom’s reaction. Would she smile? Would she be surprised? His steps quickened.
When he reached home, his mom was sitting on the porch. She looked up and froze when she saw CUTIS holding the basket. “CUTIS? Where did you go?” she asked, worry flashing across her face.
CUTIS walked up to her, knelt slightly, and lifted the basket. “For you, Mom,” he said. “Sour mangoes. You said you wanted them.”
For a moment, his mom couldn’t speak. Her eyes filled with tears as she touched the mangoes, then touched CUTIS’s face. “You went alone?” she asked softly.
CUTIS nodded. “I was careful.”
She pulled him into a gentle hug, mindful of her belly. “This is the most precious gift,” she whispered. “Not because of the mangoes, but because of your heart.”
Soon, neighbors gathered, having heard the story. Some clapped, others laughed proudly. “CUTIS is growing into a real man,” someone said. “Already taking care of his family.”
They sliced the sour mangoes, sprinkled salt and chili, and shared them. CUTIS watched as his mom ate with satisfaction, her smile wide and genuine. Seeing her happy made every drop of sweat worth it.
That day, CUTIS learned something important. Being strong wasn’t just about muscles or bravery—it was about love, responsibility, and thinking of others before yourself. The sour mangoes were small, simple fruits, but the meaning behind them was huge.
As the sun set and the sky turned orange, CUTIS sat beside his mom, listening to her heartbeat and feeling the gentle movement of the baby. In that quiet moment, he felt proud—not because others praised him, but because he had done something right.
And in the hearts of everyone who witnessed it, CUTIS harvesting sour mangoes for his pregnant mom became a story of love, kindness, and a small act that m
