13/07/2025
Part Two: Under the Mango Tree
The school day dragged longer than usual, but for once, Nnena didn’t mind. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Corper Raymond. There was something about him — not just his voice or how he pronounced his words with calm confidence — but the way he looked at her like she was more than just a student.
It was after prep on Thursday evening when it happened.
The sun was beginning to set, casting golden rays through the branches of the old mango tree behind the school library. It was Nnena’s favorite spot, quiet and mostly forgotten by other students. She often went there to read, away from the noise of the dormitory.
She was already sitting on one of the tree roots with a book in her lap when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned slightly — and there he was.
Corper Raymond.
He was holding a brown notebook and a pen. His NYSC jacket was off, and he had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, smiling gently.
“You didn’t,” she replied.
“I saw you from the staff window… Thought I should check if you were okay.”
Nnena nodded, unsure what else to say.
“Do you mind if I sit?”
She hesitated, then gave a small nod. He sat a few feet away on another root, resting his notebook on his lap.
“Funny how peaceful this place is,” he said after a moment of silence. “Back in Lagos, I couldn’t find peace even at midnight.”
“You’re from Lagos?” she asked, curiosity finally cracking her shell.
“Yes. Born and raised. Coming here has been… different.”
“In a good way?”
“In a grounding way,” he replied, meeting her gaze. “Sometimes, you need to be far from the noise to hear your own heart.”
They sat in silence for a few seconds.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
She turned the book so he could see the title. “Weep Not, Child by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o.”
He smiled. “Deep choice.”
“I like stories that feel real,” she said quietly. “Stories where people struggle but don’t lose hope.”
He watched her as she spoke, genuinely interested. “You’re not like most girls I’ve taught.”
“I don’t try to be.”
“That’s what makes you different.”
She looked away, unsure how to respond. No one had ever spoken to her like that — like she mattered beyond her grades or her silence.
He opened his notebook, scribbled something quickly, then tore the page and handed it to her.
She hesitated, then took it.
It read: “The sun doesn’t have to shout to shine.”
She looked up slowly. “Why did you write this?”
“Because it reminds me of you.”
Nnena’s heart skipped.
She folded the paper carefully and tucked it into her book. For the first time in her life, someone had seen her — not just her face, or her position in class — but something deeper. Something quiet but strong.
And for the first time, she began to wonder: Could this be what falling in love feels like?
