📘 Chapter 13: Mangoes and Misunderstandings
522 Words
It was a Saturday morning when Zawadi arrived, her braids tied back with a red ribbon, her smile wide and nervous. She carried a small paper bag filled with ripe mangoes and a folded letter she hadn’t decided whether to give Harizon.
Arabella spotted her first.
“Are you the mango girl?” she asked, peeking from behind the gate.
Zawadi laughed. “I guess I am.”
Arabella opened the gate slowly, inspecting her like a border guard. “You’re prettier than I imagined.”
Zawadi blushed. “Thanks. You must be Arabella.”
“I am. And I know everything.”
Harizon came out, wiping his hands on a rag. He froze when he saw Zawadi.
“You came,” he said, voice low.
“I said I would,” she replied. “I brought mangoes.”
He smiled. “Of course you did.”
Mama Ruth appeared at the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
“Who’s this?” she asked.
Zawadi stepped forward. “Good morning, Mama. I’m Zawadi.”
Mama Ruth didn’t smile. “You’re the one filling my son’s head with poetry and distractions.”
Zawadi swallowed. “I’m just his friend.”
“Friends don’t make boys forget their responsibilities.”
Harizon stepped in. “Mama, please.”
Mama Ruth turned to him. “You think life is a poem? That love will feed you when the world turns cold?”
Zawadi looked down. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
Arabella tugged Zawadi’s hand. “Come. Let’s sit under the mango tree. It’s safer there.”
They sat beneath the old tree, its branches heavy with fruit and memory. Harizon joined them, his notebook tucked under his arm.
“I’m sorry about Mama,” he said. “She’s protective.”
“She’s scared,” Zawadi replied. “I get it.”
He opened his notebook. “I wrote something. Want to hear it?”
She nodded.
“You came like rain on a dry roof,
Soft, sudden, and impossible to ignore.
You didn’t ask for permission—
You just bloomed.”_
Zawadi smiled. “That’s beautiful.”
Arabella clapped. “You should publish a book.”
Zawadi reached into her bag and pulled out the folded letter. “I wrote something too. But I wasn’t sure if I should give it to you.”
Harizon took it gently. “Can I read it now?”
She nodded.
He unfolded the paper. Her handwriting was neat, careful.
“Dear Harizon,
I don’t know what this is between us.
But it feels like something worth protecting.
Even if the world doesn’t understand.
Even if your mother never smiles at me.
I’ll still bring mangoes.
I’ll still believe in your words.”_
Harizon looked up, eyes soft. “You’re not just a distraction.”
“I know,” she said. “But sometimes love has to prove itself.”
Mama Ruth watched from the window, her face unreadable. She didn’t come out again that day.
But later, Harizon found a plate of sliced mangoes on the table. No note. Just fruit.
And maybe, a beginning.
- Writer
