D STORY ROOM

  The village squ@re went quiet. Even the drums stopped. Ada stood between two men—Chike, dressed in pr!!de and power, and Emeka, dusty, humble, and holding a golden mango. She looked at Emeka, her voice tre!!mbling. “Why did you take so long?” He stepped closer, his eyes full of truth. “Life in the city was h@rd. I worked in a bakery, then as a cleaner, saving little by little. I wanted to come back with something worthy of our promise.” He raised the mango. “This fruit comes from the edge of the sea, from a place where the trees grow on cliffs. But no matter where I went, my heart stayed here… under this mango tree.” Ada’s eyes filled with te@rs. Not of s@!dness—but of remembering. The laughter, the games, the promise. Chike watched in silence, then turned to Ada. “I won’t force you. But choose wisely. I came with riches. He came with a mango.” The elders looked at each other. People whispered. Even the palm wine sellers stopped pouring. Ada took a deep breath, walked to the mang...

  The whole village of Umuaka was bu!bbling with excitement. Drummers beat their talking drums, women danced with joyful ul!ulations, and children ran around with powdered faces and palm fronds in hand. Ada's traditional wedding to Chike, the son of Chief Okafor, was happening that day. She sat in her mother’s hut, dressed in a rich red wrapper with coral beads around her neck. Her friends surrounded her, singing wedding songs and teasing her with laughter. "You look like a princess!" "Chike is lucky, oh!" "Your mango boy missed his chance!" Ada smiled, but her heart wasn’t dancing with them. Outside, guests gathered with gifts: baskets of yams, bottles of palm wine, a fat goat tied under the mango tree. Everything was perfect… but Ada kept glancing at that tree. Just then, something strange happened. The drumming sl0wed. Voices dropped. Heads turned. A stranger stood at the village gate, dusty from travel. He wore simple clothes and carried only a shi...

  The mango tree still stood tall, waiting. But Emeka didn’t come back that first year. Or the second. At first, Ada counted the days, watching the road every evening, hoping to see a familiar boyish smile. Letters came—sweet, funny letters filled with stories of the city: big cars, loud h0rns, buildings as tall as iroko trees. He promised again and again that he would return. But one day, the letters stopped. People said Emeka had become a city boy. That he had forgotten the village… and Ada. But Ada didn’t believe it. Every day after chores, she still sat under the mango tree, humming the old folk songs they used to sing. Sometimes, she would talk to the tree like it could answer. "Do you think he’s okay?" she would whisper. The wind would blow, rustling the leaves softly. Years passed, and Ada bl00med like the hibiscus flowers in her mother’s garden. She was graceful, kind, and full of laughter. Many young men noticed. They brought gifts—yams, wrappers, go@ts—even a wristw...

 The Mango Tree Promise In the quiet village of Umuaka, where the sun always smiled and the breeze smel!led like ripe pawpaw, two children made the world brighter just by being in it. Their names were Ada and Emeka. From the moment they could walk, they were like twins from different mothers. If Emeka was chasing butterflies, Ada was right behind him. If Ada climbed a tree, Emeka was already at the top waiting to te@se her. But there was one spot they loved more than anywhere else—the big old mango tree in Ada’s compound. That tree was m@g!cal to them. Its thick branches made the best sh@de, and its mangoes? Oh! Sweet like honey and juicy like watermelon. It was their meeting place, their hideout, their secr!et palace. One afternoon, after school, they sat under the tree sharing a ro@sted corn. Emeka had a m!sch!evous smile. "Ada," he said, picking up a f@!len mango, "one day, I’ll marry you." Ada burst into laughter, her eyes twinkling. "You? Marry me? You don...