【an（apple及of及love）】In the quiet corners of a small village, where time moved slowly and life was simple, there lived an old orchard keeper named Thomas. Every year, he would tend to his apple trees with care, not just for the fruit they bore, but for the memories they carried.
The orchard had been in his family for generations. It was said that the first tree was planted by his great-grandfather, who believed that love could be grown like any other crop. Though many laughed at the idea, Thomas never doubted it. He believed that every apple he harvested was a symbol of something deeper — a reminder of love, sacrifice, and connection.
One summer, a young girl named Lily came to visit the orchard. She had heard stories about the "apple of love" from her grandmother, who once claimed that if you ate one of these apples, you would feel a warmth in your heart that only true love could bring. Curious and full of wonder, Lily asked Thomas if she could try one.
Thomas smiled gently and led her to the oldest tree in the orchard. The branches were heavy with red, shiny apples, each one glowing under the sunlight. He picked one and handed it to her. "This is not just an apple," he said. "It's a piece of memory."
Lily took a bite, and as the sweet juice filled her mouth, something inside her shifted. It wasn't just the taste — it was the feeling. A soft, familiar warmth spread through her chest, like the embrace of someone she had long forgotten. She looked up at Thomas, eyes wide. "What is this?"
"It's love," he said simply. "Love that has been nurtured over time, like this orchard. It doesn’t come all at once, but grows with care, patience, and devotion."
From that day on, Lily returned often, not just to pick apples, but to sit under the tree and listen to Thomas’s stories. She learned about his wife, who passed away years ago, and how the orchard had become a way to keep her close. He told her how love, like an apple, needed to ripen before it could be truly appreciated.
Years passed, and Lily grew into a woman. She left the village, but always carried the memory of the orchard with her. When she finally found love, she returned to the place that had given her her first taste of it. Thomas had aged, but his smile remained the same.
"You’ve come back," he said.
"I did," she replied. "Because I remember what this place taught me."
And as she stood beneath the old tree, she knew that love, like an apple, was not just something you find — it was something you grow, with time, care, and heart.
So, the next time you take a bite of an apple, remember: it might just be a fruit. But in the right hands, it can be an apple of love.
