Under the mango tree

: “When the Rain Fell Twice”

In the dusty town of Kasanga, where red earth stained every footstep and the sun ruled the sky, lived a boy named Malik. He wasn’t rich—his mother sold vegetables by the roadside, and his father fixed bicycles. But Malik was known for something rare: a heart full of hope.

He studied at Kasanga High School, where students from both the poor and rich mingled—though they rarely mixed. That’s where he first saw Amara.

Amara was different. She came from one of the wealthiest families in the region. Her father owned hotels, her mother drove a foreign car, and she dressed like she lived in Accra or even London. She was beautiful, smart, and cold like harmattan wind.

From the moment Malik saw her, something inside him changed. He didn’t care about her clothes or her money—he saw the loneliness behind her eyes, and he wanted to know her, to protect her, maybe even to love her.

He tried to talk to her after class one day.

“Hi, Amara. I’m Malik. I was wondering if you’d like to study together sometime?”

She didn’t even look at him. “I don’t mix with people like you.”

The words stung like fire. Still, Malik smiled. “It’s okay. I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

And he did. Every day.

Sometimes she ignored him. Sometimes she insulted him. “Do you think I’ll ever talk to a boy who wears the same shoes every day? You smell like the market!”

His friends told him to stop.

“Malik, you’re disgracing yourself. She doesn’t want you.”

But Malik shook his head. “It’s not about her wanting me. It’s about me choosing not to give up.”

Months passed. Amara grew colder, but Malik remained kind. He helped her pick up her books when they fell. He stood up for her when boys whispered things in the hallway. He even gave her his jacket in the rain—even when she threw it back at him.

Then one day, everything changed.

Amara’s father was arrested.

Fraud. Money laundering. The news spread like wildfire. Suddenly, the girl who used to arrive in a tinted Land Cruiser began walking to school. Her friends abandoned her. No more flashy clothes. No more special treatment. She sat in the corner alone, her pride shattered.

Malik watched silently.

The next week, during lunch, she sat alone behind the school building, crying. Malik found her there.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

She didn’t respond.

He sat next to her. “You know… I never liked you because you were rich. I liked you because I saw something in you. I still do.”

She looked at him, eyes red. “Why are you still here?”

“Because I meant every word,” he said. “Even when you hated me.”

She broke down. For the first time, Amara saw the boy—not the poor one, not the stubborn one—but the one who never stopped believing in her, even when she didn’t believe in herself.

That day marked a new beginning.

They started walking home together. Studying side by side. Talking under trees after school. Slowly, love bloomed—not from wealth, not from pity—but from something deeper. A friendship that turned into something real.

Years later, at a university in Kumasi, Malik and Amara stood side by side at a youth empowerment event. She introduced him to the crowd.

“This is Malik. I used to think I was too good for him. But he was the only one who truly saw me when I was invisible. He changed my life.”

⸻

Moral of the story:

True love doesn’t chase riches—it chases the soul. Sometimes, people reject you because they don’t know how to love. But when the heart finally opens, the truth shines brighter than gold.