I still see her on every face, her laugh so soft it could dry up tears. Her name was Amina. We grew up in the same compound, running through the dust all around. I never told her about my feelings for her, and I can't forgive myself for that.

I want the shy type, I just felt guilty. Her mother, mama Halima, was tortured to death by my grandfather. That was a guilt passed on through generations and the burden felt so heavy on me. I watched her hold tight to her mother's blanket at night and I believed I didn't deserve her love. 

Each time she smiled at me, I felt the shame of know the truth. I could tell how hurtful losing her mother was. It made me always wish I could change the past.

Under this same guava tree 2 years ago, she said she was leaving Lagos for a medical school in Canada. I felt so bad that I almost confessed. Seriously, I wish I actually did, but the chain of guilt held me back. 

"Don't worry, I'll keep in touch", she said. I just nodded. The heart ache pinning me down. 

Then she left.

Only few weeks after that, she was raped and murdered by some white monkeys who must have seen her as inferior. No proper goodbye, no 'keeping in touch', no opportunity for the 3 words I never had the courage to say. 

That guilt. My unspoken love for Amina. It haunts me.

Every night I feel like cuddling her to sleep, apologizing for my grandfather's cruelty, expressing my feelings to her. But the emptiness might never end. 

If I can get a hold of her murderers. That crime so deep it could destroy one's soul. In the end, I wasn't there to protect her. 

And now I stand by the same guava tree, it's leaves felt moving like everything is normal. Those last words flashing through my whole being. 

I'm sorry, Amina. I probably loved you more than I deserved.