Love Beneath the Mango Tree

Chapter One: The Call Home The city was alive with its usual rhythm-horns blaring, footsteps echoing on the pavement, and the faint hum of conversation spilling from cafés. Leila Santos sat at her desk, eyes fixed on the glowing screen in front of her. The marketing pitch she'd been perfecting for weeks was due in an hour, and her coffee had already gone cold. She rubbed her temples, trying to focus, when her phone buzzed beside her keyboard. The name flashing on the screen made her heart skip. "Tita Marites." She hesitated before answering. Her aunt rarely called during work hours. "Hello, Tita?" Leila said, her voice cautious. "Leila, anak..." Her aunt's voice trembled. "It's your Lola. She's not doing well. The doctor said she needs rest and someone to look after her." Leila's chest tightened. "What happened?" "She collapsed this morning. High blood pressure again. She's stable now, but she shouldn't be alone. You know how stubborn she is-she refuses to stay in the hospital." Leila leaned back in her chair, the noise of the office fading into a distant hum. Her grandmother, the woman who raised her during her childhood summers in Isabela, had always been strong-unyielding even. The thought of her frail and sick made something inside Leila ache. "I'll come," she said quietly. "I'll take a leave from work and go home." Her aunt sighed in relief. "She'll be happy to see you, hija. It's been too long." When the call ended, Leila stared at her reflection in the darkened computer screen. The city lights outside her window flickered like restless stars, but for the first time, they didn't comfort her. She packed her things, her mind already miles away-in a small town surrounded by rice fields and mango trees. Two days later, the bus rolled into the province of Isabela. The air was thick with the scent of earth and rain, and the horizon stretched endlessly, painted in shades of green and gold. Leila pressed her forehead against the window, watching the fields blur past. It had been nearly ten years since she'd last been here, yet everything felt achingly familiar-the narrow roads, the carabao carts, the laughter of children running barefoot along the roadside. When she arrived at her grandmother's house, the old wooden gate creaked open as if welcoming her home. Her grandmother, though pale, smiled weakly from the porch. "Leila, apo," she whispered, her voice soft but steady. "You came." Leila knelt beside her, taking her hand. "Of course, Lola. I'm here now." For the next few days, Leila settled into a slower rhythm. She cooked, cleaned, and helped her grandmother with her medicine. The quiet was strange at first-no traffic, no deadlines, no constant notifications. Just the sound of cicadas and the rustle of leaves outside the window. One afternoon, after making sure her grandmother was resting, Leila decided to walk around town. The sun hung low, casting a golden glow over the fields. She followed the dirt path that led to the plaza, where vendors sold fruits and woven baskets. The air smelled of ripe mangoes and roasted corn. As she wandered past the old church, she noticed a man repairing a wooden bench under a large mango tree. He was tall, his skin sun-kissed, his shirt damp with sweat. His movements were steady and precise, each strike of the hammer deliberate. Leila slowed her steps, curious. The man looked up, catching her gaze. His eyes were warm, the color of dark honey. He smiled-a small, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Good afternoon," he said, wiping his hands on a rag. "You're not from around here, are you?" Leila blinked, caught off guard. "Is it that obvious?" He chuckled softly. "A bit. You walk like someone who's not used to dirt roads." She laughed, the sound surprising even herself. "I guess I've been away too long." He nodded toward the bench. "I'm Lucas. I fix things around here-benches, fences, sometimes even hearts, if they're not too broken." Leila raised an eyebrow, amused. "That's quite a job description." He shrugged, smiling. "Keeps me busy." They talked for a while-about the town, the upcoming fiesta, and how the mango trees had been blooming early that year. Leila found herself relaxing, drawn to his easy manner and quiet humor. There was something grounding about him, something that made the noise in her head fade away. As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, Leila realized she hadn't felt this calm in years. "I should get back," she said reluctantly. "My grandmother's waiting." Lucas nodded, picking up his tools. "It was nice meeting you, Leila." She paused. "I didn't tell you my name." He smiled, tapping the side of his head. "Small towns. Word travels fast." Leila laughed again, shaking her head as she walked away. But as she glanced back, she saw him still standing under the mango tree, watching her with that same quiet smile. For the first time since leaving the city, she felt something stir inside her-a warmth she couldn't quite name. Maybe it was the air, or the sunset, or the way Lucas had looked at her as if he already knew her story. Whatever it was, it felt like the beginning of something she hadn't expected to find in the province of Isabela.