Beneath the mango tree

"Beneath the Mango Tree"

It was the quiet season in the village when the air smelled of ripened fruit and warm earth. Every afternoon, the sun poured golden light over the fields, and birds chirped like they were singing love songs. Beneath the oldest mango tree in the village, Amaka sat with her sketchpad, drawing the things she loved—flowers, animals, and sometimes, faces she imagined.

One afternoon, while sketching, she heard the sound of a bicycle skidding. She looked up and saw Chinedu, the new teacher at the village school. He had been trying to ride through the muddy path but lost balance and fell beside her tree. She laughed softly, and he looked up, embarrassed but smiling.

“Nice fall,” she teased, helping him up.

“Thanks for the graceful rescue,” he replied, brushing off dirt.

That was their beginning.

Day after day, Chinedu began stopping by under the mango tree after school. He’d bring her roasted groundnuts or a cold bottle of Fanta, and in return, she’d show him her latest sketches. Their conversations grew from jokes and stories to dreams and hopes. She wanted to study art in the city; he dreamed of building a library in the village.

One day, as the sky turned orange and a soft breeze rustled the leaves, Chinedu took her hand. “Amaka,” he said, voice low and steady, “I’ve never met anyone who sees the world the way you do. I didn’t just fall beside this tree—I think I fell for you.”

Her heart thumped like a drum in a festival. She smiled, looking up through the mango leaves. “Then maybe we both fell in the right place.”

The mango tree became their sacred spot, a place of laughter, love, and gentle promises. Years later, they carved their names into its bark, right below where Chinedu first fell—proof that love, sometimes, begins with a stumble.