The schoolyard was quiet. Dry leaves moved in the wind. Ada stood near the old almond tree at St. Mary’s Secondary School. She had come for the reunion but stayed outside to help.
Finding branches with her foot she bumped on something under the roots. She leaned down and noticed an envelope that was sticking out of the ground. The paper was old and yellow. On the front, her name, Ada, was written. Her heart squeezed. She took the letter out of the envelope.
"Dear Ada, You can't see me, but I can see you every day. Your smile is like sunshine after rain. I wish I was brave enough to tell you how I feel. Maybe one day I will. For now, I'll place it under our tree. Yours, silently."
Ada looked around, half expecting someone to appear. The yard was empty. She checked the roots again and found more envelopes. There were five in total.
She read them all. One spoke of her laughter in literature class. Another mentioned how she gave her lunch to someone hungry. Each one was tender and shy.
She thought of the boys from her class Ebuka, loud and funny. Tunde, the football star. And Chike, the quiet one with a notebook who often sat under this tree.
A voice broke her thoughts. “Find something interesting?”
It was Uche, carrying chairs. Ada showed him a letter.
He grinned. “Ah, the tree of secrets. Some boys used to leave things there.” He walked on, leaving her alone with the letters.
After that, Ada laid the letters out on her bed. She read them again, more careful and slower this time. She sensed that the writer was in tune with her humming, with her gentle nature, and even with the fragrance of coconut oil in her hair.
That single sentence seemed to haunt her over and over: "Loving you from afar taught me that kindness matters, even when unseen."
Her heart felt both warm and sad. How had she missed this?
The reunion hall was full of laughter and music. Old friends danced and hugged. Ada smiled and chatted, but she kept searching faces.
Then she saw him.
Chike stood by the drinks table. He was taller now, broader, but his shy eyes were the same.
Ada walked over. “Chike.”
He turned. “Ada… hi.”
She held up a letter. “Were these yours?”
He became very serious. After that, he looked down and with a tiny, shy smile, he said, "I didn't think that anyone would come across them." "They are amazing," said Ada. "I was a boy who couldn't talk," he answered. "What was the point of hiding them under the tree?" she inquired.
Chike looked at the garden. "That tree seemed like security. I was thinking it might be you that they came."
"Just a word from you would have been enough," Ada replied quietly.
"I doubted that you'd be interested," he said. "You were lively and well known. I was quite and unnoticed."
They were both quiet. The sound of the corridor disappeared.
“Did you ever forget?” Ada asked.
He smiled faintly. “Life went on. But sometimes I thought of that tree. And you.”
Ada touched his arm. “Let’s take a walk.”
The night was cool and still. They walked to the almond tree. Its branches swayed gently.
“I sat here often,” Chike said. “I’d write and watch you laugh with your friends. You seemed far away.”
“You could have joined us,” Ada said.
He laughed quietly. “I thought you’d laugh at me.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have,” she replied.
Chike turned to her. “Do you mean that?”
Ada looked up at the sky. "I am really not sure. Still, the way I have come to understand you through your letters... it is as if I have been your heart's friend for a very long time," she said.
The brightness of evening had begun to fade. The aroma of grass was in the air and the gentle wind murmured through the trees.
"I would like another letter from you," said Ada.
Chike blinked. “Now?”
She smiled. “Not to hide. To give to me.”
He nodded. “I will.”
The very next day, Ada discovered a letter under her car’s wiper.
"Dear Ada,
The night we spent together could have been nothing but a dream. I am unsure where this is going. However, I would like to be by your side, even if it is a slow walk. Yours, not quite silent anymore." Ada hugged the note to her heart.
They were meeting each other quite frequently for the next few weeks. They drank coffee, walked, and talked for hours. They caught each other up with their lives. She told him about her life in the city and the love that had gone out of her way. He told her about the books he had written but had never shown to anyone.
Aside from that, they learned how she had the habit of softly humming while she was in the kitchen and how he always had a pen with him. Next they laughed until they couldn’t breathe.
Another stormy midday, they found their usual spot beneath the almond tree. The rain was pouring from the leaves, but they were not disturbed by it.
Chike put his arm around her. “Previously, I believed that the very first love was to be forgotten.”
“Maybe it doesn’t leave,” Ada said. “Maybe it just waits.”
They stayed there, listening to the rain.
Years later, they returned with their daughter. The school had changed, but the almond tree still stood strong.
Chike lifted the little girl so she could touch a branch. “This is where your mother found my heart,” he said.
Ada laughed softly. “And where I learned that the quietest gestures can hold the deepest love.”
Their daughter giggled, not yet understanding. Someday, Ada thought, she would. And maybe she too would stand under an old tree, holding a letter, and know that first love can wait as long as it needs to.
Thank you for reading
