It was May. The sun hung in the sky like fire pouring from a heavy clay bowl. A deep silence stretched across the land. Otabek was walking back from the fields, utterly exhausted. He carried his heavy hoe over his shoulder—a tool he always called his "lifelong companion"—plodding home with heavy steps. "Hey, neighbor! How are things?" Khayrulla's rough voice called out from behind. Startled, Otabek turned and shook his hand. Fanning his own worn-out shirt, faded by time and destiny, Otabek spoke with a deep sigh: "Is this what they call making a living? If it's already this hot, I wonder what July will feel like..." "Ah, neighbor, we will survive whatever day God gives us. But what will I do about money? To make things worse, this wretched machine won't even start," Khayrulla said, gesturing toward his broken tractor. "What money?" Otabek asked, his curiosity piqued. "Oh, haven't you heard yet? For a week now, our kids have been collecting a hundred thousand sums each for the school graduation party. Who even came up with this nonsense? And to top it off, tomorrow is the final deadline..." Khayrulla muttered, looking defeated. An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Otabek set off toward his house. A hundred thousand sums...? The phrase spun in his mind like a relentless waterwheel. How was he supposed to find that much money in half a day? As soon as he stepped into his courtyard, he called out: "Jovli! Jovli...!" "Coming!" a voice called from the kitchen. His wife, Mavjuda, ran out holding a cooking ladle. She was a short woman with fine wrinkles spreading across her face like the roots of an old tree. Her eyes were always tinged with a soft sadness. Seeing her husband standing there in a daze, she poured water from a tin pitcher over Otabek's hands. Otabek washed his face and asked: "Where is your son?" "I don't know. The moment he comes home from school, he rushes off somewhere. If I ask him anything, he just stays quiet." "Has he asked you for money?" "Since when do I handle big money? You keep the key to the wooden chest. Oh, my goodness, the food is burning!" Mavjuda cried out, rushing back toward the kitchen with her limping gait. Seeing her today, Otabek realized with a sudden pang how thin and frail she had become. She has grown old... and I am the one who aged her, Otabek whispered to himself. Lying down in the cool darkness of the house, sleep refused to come to Otabek's eyes. Toward evening, Jovli walked in quietly, looking as anxious as a frightened rabbit. "Where on earth have you been wandering?" his father asked, his rough voice demanding a response. The boy remained silent, his head bowed low. Otabek lost his patience entirely: "Go inside the house, you lazy boy...!" Yes, they were the graduating class! Thirty-two students were preparing to step into adult life. Some of his classmates had even begun dreaming of that magical night—the graduation ball. But Jovli's heart was heavy. For a whole month, without telling his parents, he had been working at the grand house of Sattor, the village wealthy man, installing electrical wiring. Now, holding a hundred thousand sums in cash along with a few small packages, Jovli felt a wave of pure happiness. When he reached his classmate's house, he found Khayrulla and a few other parents gathered around a table, busy calculating the party expenses. Everyone looked at Jovli's dusty, stained work clothes with disgust. But Jovli did not care. In that exact moment, he felt happier than a man who had just conquered the highest mountain peak. Walking proudly into his own courtyard, Jovli looked at his father, who sat on the terrace lost in thought, and his mother, who was washing clothes. Taking a deep breath, he called out: "Father, this is for you!" From his bag, he pulled a beautiful, boxed shirt and a small stack of fresh banknotes, handing them to his father. "And this is for you, Mother," he said, gently placing a beautifully patterned silk scarf into her hands. "Where did you get all this?" his father asked, his voice turning dead serious. "I wanted to find the money for the graduation party on my own, so I've been working secretly, doing the electrical wiring at brother Sattor's new house. I received my wage today, and I already handed over my share for the party," the boy explained, his voice trembling slightly with excitement. Wrapping the silk scarf over her head, his mother beamed with joy: "Oh, my sweet child! Look at the beautiful scarf my boy brought me!" His father, however, looked at his son, and for the first time in his entire life, his voice softened into pure tenderness: "You have truly grown into a man, my son...!"