His name was Mango. He lived in a fishing village to the East of the island and I, in a competing village on the West.

I remember the day was humid, more so than usual, and that my cousins and I decided to go to the lagoon in the North. We paired up and hopped on our Vespas in twos, except for me.

On our way we drove on the main street that connects all cardinals directions on our little island. Along this road, you’d typically encounter many fruit stands and small bazaars that are speckled along the way.

As I was trailing behind my cousins, I was hit with a refreshing scent of peach. I scanned each of the stands and saw him there.

Mango was selling peaches.

I diverted from my cousins and steered to the side of the road.

He called me over in an attempt to sell me his produce, but I was n longer interested in the peaches he offered, rather, my interest lied in him.

I ended up buying a dozen peaches and later sharing them with my cousins at the lagoon.

On the second day I visited, he told me his name.

I made a comment on how it’d be great if his name, too, were peaches. He chuckled, answering:

“Mango isn’t my real name. I’ve just decided to go by an alias since I'd be in trouble if my village found out what I was doing.”

I inquired about why they’d be displeased. He sighed then told me that his village has a long history of fishing and that it's his family's heritage. His disinterest in the family trade will cause him to be disowned.

He then went on to talk about how his peaches are the most fragrant and sweet ones I'll find on the entire island. Mango started telling me about his farm up north that he tends to with some friends of his.

He invited me over to the farm, and that’s when I saw him again on the third day.

His farm was humble and well kept. He expressed to me his desire to one day purchase more land nearby so that he could grow a greater variety of fruit, such as his favorite, mangoes.

The fourth day, I was too busy with my family’s business to go see him, but I spent the whole day reflecting on my life and my desires. Maybe I too didn’t want to fisher forever.

On the morning of the fifth day, I went to his fruit stand and stuck around, helping him out with his work. He offered to pay but I declined.

Mango began to grow curious about me and my family, which allowed me to tell him about my similar disinterested in my family’s fishing business.

He asked me what I wanted to do, and I said that I do not know yet. It was also on the fifth day that my cousin saw me with Mango on his way to the lagoon.

Later that day, I went to Mango’s farm.

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We held hands and talked about the possibilities our futures hold, his more decided and vivid than mine. His aspirations had inspired me to dream and his smooth sun-kissed complexion inspired me to kiss him. I just wanted to see how the sun may have felt every day that it lays its rays of ultra violence on him.

He kissed me back.

I returned home the next morning on my Vespa, feeling the salty breeze on my nose as I drove by the ocean.

It was the sixth day.

My cousin had told my parents about what he saw the day before, which caused both my parents to scold me over my choice of friend. They made me stay in the village for the week.

It was possibly the hottest week all year and I could no longer go to the lagoon.

On the fourteenth day I was finally able to leave the village, but not without my cousins hovering, watching my every interaction.

They were told to keep an eye on me, so as to prevent me from talking to the son of the competing village.

You can probably tell that our villages are not on good terms. They haven’t been for decades.

I drove up to the lagoon with my cousins following closely behind. Again, I was unpaired on my Vespa. I could smell the same sweet peachy scent, and my eyes looked towards Mango's stand, but he was not there.

Instead, one of his friends from his farm was.

I decided to drop by; it won’t be an issue for my family, considering how no one from the competing village was there.

His friends eyes lit up, he called me over. He told me that Mango was in trouble because someone told his family that he’d been selling peaches on the main road instead of committing to his village's legacy.

He was grounded for much longer that I was.

My cousins kept their distance from me but Mango's friend noticed their eyes on me. He offered his help, thinking I was being bullied or stalked, saying that any friend of Mango is a friend of his. I reassured him that they’re my cousins.

Waving goodbye, I got back on my Vespa and drove up North to the lagoon. I’m glad my cousins were following me from behind, because for the entirety of the ride, I was crying my eyes out.

My salty tears where mixing with the salty breeze.

I missed Mango and I was worried about him.

Some time passes and on the twenty-seventh night I snuck out to Mangos farm. His friend had told me three days prior, that Mango wanted to see me again. His friend told me that Mango would sneak out so see me on the farm after sunset.

The night was chilly but still humid, my forehead was covered in beads of sweat that reflected the blue moonlight.

When I got to the farm, the wind chimes were blowing at the front door of the shack. He was on the front porch swinging on the hammock. When he saw me driving up he ran up to me and kissed me.

I don’t know if it was the moonlight that made him look paler than usual or if he had been put on fish gutting duty with the women indoors, much like I during the week I was grounded. This made me feel oddly closer to him.

We spoke all night and made love countless times.

The world for once was revolving around us.

When I woke up, he was already up. We both rushed to get dressed, since we both had to make it back before anyone in our village had noticed our absence.

At the time I didn't know, but this was the last time we saw each other.

Soon after, a large typhoon came to visit our island. We were unprepared since typhoon season usually occurs later in the year.

Our village was flooded.

            In fact, the whole island was. Though the East had it worse.

When my family escaped to the central region of the island, where it’s more elevated, I saw Mango’s friends from his farm.

I approached them and they told me that none of them had seen Mango, but earlier in the day they had seen his family.

That day I mourned him.

The next day I recalled his resilience and told my self that I’ll find him.

Since then, I’ve been asking villagers who could have possibly seen him, for information about his potential whereabouts. My attempts were unsuccessful.

I grew desperate enough to ask his village members about him. They knew who I was and they treated me coldly. I got no answers, until his sister saw me and spoke to me out of pity. She told me that he often told her about me and that she sees me as someone dear, even though I’m from a competing village, much like how Mango treated me even when knowing the implications of our association.

She told me that during the start of the typhoon he bid her farewell and decided to use the moment as a distraction for his disappearance. He wanted to go up North and wait for me there at his farm.

When she told me this, I sped my way up North.

The wind was cold and my heard was pounding.

The wind chime outside the front door was still singing and the hammock still swinging.

I never liked peaches in the first place. I’ve only ever liked mangoes.