Chiamaka's face lit up. "A doctor!" she said confidently. "I want to help people."
Ogechi nodded, though she didn't have an answer for herself. She admired Chiamaka's clarity and ambition but couldn't help feeling a twinge of envy.
The mango tree also bore witness to their secrets and promises. It was there that they swore to always be best friends, to always support each other no matter what. At the time, Ogechi meant every word.
Their bond carried over into their school years. From primary school to secondary school, they were almost always in the same class, sitting next to each other. Teachers often remarked on how the girls complemented each other—Chiamaka, the extrovert who was quick to lead group discussions, and Ogechi, the introvert whose sharp mind often found solutions others missed.
But as they grew older, the dynamics began to shift.
Chiamaka blossomed into a striking young woman. Her caramel skin glowed, her full lips framed a dazzling smile, and her confidence drew people to her effortlessly. Boys started noticing her, leaving little notes in her locker and offering to carry her books. Teachers and peers alike praised her for her intelligence and leadership skills.
Ogechi, though beautiful in her own way, lacked the same magnetic presence. She often felt like she was living in Chiamaka's shadow, and the constant attention her friend received only deepened her insecurities.
One afternoon during break, a boy named Tunde approached their group of friends, his eyes fixed on Chiamaka.
"Hi, Chiamaka," he said nervously, holding out a neatly folded note.
Chiamaka, oblivious to Ogechi's growing discomfort, took the note with a smile. "Thank you, Tunde."
As Tunde walked away, Ogechi muttered under her breath, "Another one? Chiamaka, do you ever get tired of the attention?"
Chiamaka laughed, thinking it was a harmless joke. "It's not my fault, Ogechi. Maybe you should smile more. You're pretty too, you know."