The most profound teacher

 In a small village near São Paulo, a young girl named Dominique spent her days under the watchful eyes of her grandmother, Maria. While her mother worked tirelessly in the bustling city, Dominique found solace in the simple, unhurried life her grandmother embraced.

Maria’s home was modest but alive with warmth. The garden teemed with bright flowers and aromatic herbs, and the kitchen always smelled of freshly baked pão de queijo. But what Dominique treasured was walks along the pier and most of all, was her grandmother’s stories — simple, genuine accounts of her life and lessons learned from it.

“You see that tree, minha querida?” Maria said one afternoon as they sat in the garden, sharing guava slices. Dominique nodded, glancing at the towering jacaranda. Its purple blooms painted the sky.

“That tree reminds me of you. It grows slowly but steadily, reaching for the sun,” Maria said, brushing her hand over Dominique’s bronze coloured hair. “You don’t need to rush in life. Just like this tree, your roots need to be strong before you grow tall.”

Dominique often thought about these moments when she was alone. Her mother called daily but was always hurried. “How was school?” “Did you eat your lunch?” The calls felt like checklists, not conversations. Dominique missed her mother’s laughter, her touch, but she also understood her sacrifices. Her mother worked hard so Dominique could study in a good school and have the life Maria hadn’t been able to provide for her daughter.

As Dominique grew older, Maria’s words stayed with her. She learned the value of slowing down, observing, and understanding people. Her grandmother’s lessons taught her how to appreciate life’s small treasures — a shared meal, the scent of blooming flowers, or the comfort of sitting silently with someone who cared.

One evening, Dominique’s mother returned home from the city for a short visit. Exhaustion weighed on her face, but Dominique noticed something else — a glimmer of something unspoken. Maria, as usual, greeted her with open arms.

“Mamãe,” Dominique said as they sat together later, “I think you should stay a little longer. I think you might learn something from vovó, too.”

Her mother laughed softly but caught the serious tone in Dominique’s voice. That weekend, as Maria shared yet another story under the jacaranda, Dominique saw her mother listening — not rushing, not checking the time. For the first time in years, her mother seemed to exhale, soaking in the warmth Dominique had cherished all along.

The lesson became clear: time spent with love and intention is the most profound teacher. And for Dominique, her grandmother’s genuine example would forever guide her path.