The next morning, Eshara woke with its usual rhythm. The call of roosters echoed through the narrow streets, women swept their compounds with long brooms, and the smell of akara frying in hot oil drifted through the air. But beneath the ordinary sounds of the town, something else was stirring.
Whispers.
It began in the market, as most things did. A woman selling tomatoes leaned close to her neighbor, her voice low but sharp. "Did you hear? The judge's son was seen by the river yesterday evening."
Her neighbor raised her brows. "And so? Is it a crime to walk by the river?"
The tomato seller smirked. "Not alone. With her."
The neighbor's eyes widened. "Which her?"
"You know which her. Mama Ifeoma's daughter."
The words spread like smoke. From the tomato stall to the yam seller, from the yam seller to the pepper grinder, and from the pepper grinder to the woman plaiting hair under the mango tree. By the time the sun was high, the whole market was buzzing.
"The judge's son and the healer's daughter."
"They say he was staring at her like a man under a spell."
"Ah, I knew it. That girl is dangerous."
"She will bring shame to his family."
By afternoon, the whispers had reached the judge's compound.
Chinedu sat in the courtyard, a book open on his lap, though he had not read a single line. His mind kept drifting back to the river, to the girl with sharp eyes and steady hands. Amara. He could still hear her voice warning him. Whispers can destroy a person here.
He had wanted to see her again, to ask her why she looked at him as if she already knew him. But now, as he sat in the compound, he felt the weight of unseen eyes. Servants moved about quietly, but he could sense their curiosity. He knew the whispers had begun.
The heavy gate creaked open, and his cousin Emeka walked in, grinning. "Chinedu, my brother! You have returned, and already the town is talking about you."
Chinedu frowned. "What do you mean?"
Emeka dropped onto the bench beside him, lowering his voice. "They say you were with Amara yesterday. By the river."
Chinedu's chest tightened. "Who told you that?"
Emeka shrugged. "Does it matter? Everyone knows now. You should be careful. People here love stories more than food."
Before Chinedu could reply, the sound of footsteps echoed across the courtyard. His father appeared, tall and stern, his face like carved stone. The judge's eyes swept over his son, then narrowed.
"Inside. Now."
Chinedu followed him into the sitting room, his heart pounding. His mother sat quietly in the corner, her hands folded in her lap. The judge turned, his voice low but sharp.
"I hear things I do not like, Chinedu. I hear you were seen with that girl."
Chinedu swallowed hard. "I was only walking. She was by the river."
The judge's eyes burned. "Do not play with me. You know who she is. That family has no place near ours. Do you want to drag my name into the mud?"
Chinedu clenched his fists. "She did nothing wrong. She only—"
"Enough!" The judge's voice thundered. "You will not speak to her again. Do you understand me?"
Silence filled the room. His mother looked away, her face pale.
Chinedu's chest ached, but he forced the words out. "Yes, Father."
The Judge studied him for a long moment, then turned and left the room.
When the door closed, his mother finally spoke, her voice soft. "Chinedu, please. Do not make life harder for yourself. Your father's anger is not something you can fight."
Chinedu looked at her, his throat tight. "But what if the whispers are wrong? What if she is not what they say?"
His mother's eyes filled with sadness. "In this town, it does not matter what is true. It only matters what people believe."
That night, Chinedu lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The judge's warning echoed in his mind, but so did Amara's voice. He knew he should stay away. He knew the whispers would only grow louder.
But he also knew he could not forget her.
---
On the other side of town, Amara sat by the fire, her mother grinding herbs beside her. The flames flickered, casting shadows on the walls.
"People are talking," Mama Ifeoma said quietly.
Amara's hands stilled. "About what?"
"You know what? About you and the judge's son."
Amara's chest tightened. "We only spoke for a moment."
Mama Ifeoma looked at her, her eyes weary but sharp. "A moment is enough for this town. They will twist it into something else. They will say you bewitched him, just as they said about me."
Amara lowered her gaze. "I did nothing wrong."
Her mother reached out, touching her hand. "I know. But the world does not care about truth. It cares about stories. And once a story begins, it is hard to stop."
Amara felt a lump in her throat. She wanted to be strong, to brush off the whispers, but deep inside, she was afraid. Not for herself, but for him.
She remembered the way Chinedu had looked at her, not with fear, but with something else. Something she could not name.
And she knew, no matter what her mother said, that this was not the end.
---
The next day, Chinedu walked through the market, his head held high. He could feel the eyes on him and hear the whispers that followed.
"There he is."
"The Judge's son."
"Look at him, walking like nothing happened."
"They say she has already caught him."
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to react. But then, as he turned a corner, he froze.
Amara was there. Standing by a stall, her basket in her hands, her eyes meeting his across the crowd.
For a moment, the world fell silent.
Then someone behind him muttered loudly, "See them. They cannot even hide it."
The words cut through the air like a knife. Heads turned. Eyes narrowed.
Chinedu's heart pounded. He wanted to walk to her, to speak, to prove them wrong. But before he could move, a hand gripped his shoulder.
He turned and saw his father's aide, his face grim. "Your father wants you. Now."
Chinedu looked back at Amara, but she was already turning away, her face pale, her steps quick.
The aide's grip tightened. "Do not make me drag you."
And as Chinedu was pulled through the crowd, the whispers rose louder, sharper, like a storm gathering over the town