We were just kids, meeting up at a neighbor’s house to laugh and play. We weren’t all the same age—some were a year younger, others two years older. One day, a fight broke out between me and a girl who was two years older than me. In her anger, she told me to never speak to her again. I found it irritating. Did she really think I would crumble without talking to her? How presumptuous! So, I avoided her.

We grew into teenagers, still holding onto our silence. Our neighbors tried to intervene, often saying, "God won’t be happy if you two don’t talk." But their words didn’t change anything. One day, I saw her with her sisters, getting into a taxi. She didn’t look well. My mother approached the car and gently said, “Flora, you’ll be fine, okay?” I wondered what was wrong but still didn’t speak to her.

A week later, I saw posters of her all over the neighborhood. Her sisters were in tears, and the whole community was mourning. I was shaken. What was I going to do now? Why didn’t we reconcile when we had the chance? I didn’t even feel like I had the right to cry at her funeral. As I watched the hearse drive by, I sighed and headed home. How could I say goodbye to someone I refused to even say good morning to?