“This is my plant,” he said. “For months, I watered it perfectly. Gave it sunlight. Spoke to it. Nothing worked. I was about to throw it away.”
“Sit,” he said kindly. “Tell me about the last time you quit.”
And Leila, breathless and teary, finally understood: being strong didn’t mean never falling. It meant having someone who believed in you enough to help you stand up again—one tiny, possible step at a time.
He turned to Leila. “You don’t need discipline. You need a smaller step. One so small you cannot fail.”
Leila hesitated, then sat. She told him about the running group she left after three days, the yoga videos she turned off halfway, the healthy meals she abandoned for leftover cake. Each story ended the same way: I’m just not built for this.
Abolfazl replied: Good. Now you’ve practiced quitting. Tomorrow, practice showing up again.
“Mr. Abolfazl?” she whispered. “I need… help. But I have no discipline. No strength. I’ve tried everything, but I always quit.”