PART ONE — THE GIRL ACROSS THE STREET

The first time I noticed Amara, she was stealing mangoes from our neighbour's tree.

I was sixteen.

She was fifteen.

And she was terrible at stealing.

She had barely climbed halfway up the tree when the owner came outside shouting.

She jumped down and ran.

Straight toward me.

“Move!”

I stepped aside.

She stopped a few metres away, breathing heavily.

Then she smiled.

“Did you see anything?”

I laughed.

“Unfortunately.”

“Please don't tell anyone.”

“I won't.”

“Thank you.”

She started walking away.

“Wait.”

She turned.

“You forgot this.”

I held up the mango she had dropped.

She smiled.

“Keep it.”

That was how we met.

Simple.

Nothing special.

At least, that's what I thought.

Our houses were directly opposite each other.

My father owned a mechanic workshop.

Her father owned a supermarket.

But there was one strange thing.

Our fathers hated each other.

Whenever Amara crossed our side of the street, my father would stare at her.

Whenever I went near her house, her father would send someone to call me back.

One evening, my father caught me talking to her.

“Kelechi.”

I turned.

“Sir?”

“Stay away from that girl.”

“Why?”

His face hardened.

“Because I said so.”

Across the street, Amara's father was watching us.

Later that night, Amara sent me a message.

“My dad said I should never talk to you again.”

I replied:

“Mine said the same thing.”

She sent a laughing emoji.

Then:

“So now we have a reason to talk.”

I smiled.

Neither of us knew it then...

but that was the beginning of everything.