"A row of small green loops appeared, bent over like people bowing." The "loops" are

On the first day of the holidays, Meena's aunt gave her a packet of sunflower seeds. "Plant them by the wall," she said, "and water them every evening."

Meena planted all twelve seeds in a neat row. The next morning she ran outside before breakfast. Nothing. She watered them again, though it was not evening. At lunch she checked. Still nothing. By the third day she was sure the seeds were dead, and she dug one up to see.

It had split open, and a tiny white root was pushing down into the soil. Meena stared at it, ashamed. She pressed it gently back into the ground and patted the earth over it.

After that she made herself a rule: look only once a day, in the evening, with the watering can. On the eighth evening, a row of small green loops appeared, bent over like people bowing. By the end of the holidays the sunflowers were taller than the wall, and taller than Meena too.

Only one plant was shorter than the rest. It was the one she had dug up. It had lived, but it was always a little behind. Meena did not mind. Whenever she looked at it, it reminded her that some things grow best when you leave them alone.