Under The Mango Tree

Chapter 2. Hostel Politics & First Crushes

The girls’ hostel was a world of its own—where water scarcity, socket fights, and loud midnight gists defined survival. Deborah shared her room with Chinyere, a final-year student who never spoke in the morning and always burned incense at night.

Week two of university life, and Deborah had learned more about power struggle than physics. Room leaders controlled sockets, senior girls owned the only standing mirror, and hostel meetings were louder than campaign rallies.

But still, there were moments. Beautiful ones.

Like when she met Tolu.

He was sitting under the big mango tree outside the library, drawing something. She had passed by three times before he looked up. His smile was lazy, like someone who knew you’d stop eventually.

“You lost, or just shy?” he asked.

“I’m… just passing.”

“Passing the same spot three times?”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. That was the beginning.

Tolu was a second-year architecture student with a sketchbook always in hand. He listened more than he spoke. He laughed in full, open sounds. And when he said her name—“Deborah”—it sounded like something delicate.

She didn’t call it a crush. But her journal had more sketches of mango trees than lecture notes.