Weeks had passed since the accident. Life at the Pothead household slowly returned to normal—though for Harry, nothing would ever be quite the same. He had grown taller in those weeks, or at least it felt that way, as though surviving the garden had stretched something inside him that could never shrink again.
On a warm tropical morning, the sun high and golden, Harry wandered into the backyard garden. The grass shimmered with dew, the Golden Penda bloomed in pale yellow clusters, and the old log lay quiet in the corner where he used to sit. To anyone else, it was just a patch of greenery. To Harry, it was a kingdom.
He knelt by the log, running his fingers over the bark. "I wonder if you're still in there," he whispered.
As if in answer, a faint buzz rose from the hollow opening. Harry's heart skipped. A black, glossy shape emerged—the stingless bee. His friend. It circled him once, wings flashing silver in the light, then hovered just before his face.
Harry grinned. "I knew you'd be here."
The bee brushed its antennae against his cheek in greeting, just as it had that day when he freed it from the spider's web. The ticklish touch made Harry laugh softly. For a moment, the world melted away—the worry of school, the noise of the neighborhood, even the lingering memory of fear. All that remained was this bond, small and extraordinary.
He sat quietly, watching the hive come to life. Workers darted from flower to flower, their pollen baskets glowing golden. Others returned to the log, disappearing into its resin-sealed tunnels. The hive thrived, alive and strong.
Harry pulled out a small jar from his pocket. Inside was a spoonful of sugar water—his tiny gift. He set it gently near the hive entrance. "For you," he said. The bees gathered, sipping eagerly, and he smiled.
As the sun climbed higher, Harry leaned back against the log, listening to the hum of wings blending with the rustle of leaves. He thought of the night he had dug a shelter in the dirt, the spider's tapping legs, the roar of ants, the miracle of the queen laying her egg. He thought of being small and helpless—and how he had found strength in unexpected places.
Most of all, he thought of this friend who had carried him home.
The bee rose once more, hovering in front of him before darting back toward the log. Harry lifted his hand in farewell.
"See you soon," he whispered.
And with that, the boy and the bee returned to their worlds—separate, yet forever connected.
Because no matter how tall Harry grew, or how ordinary the garden might seem to others, he would always remember the time he had been small enough to see the greatness of tiny things.