When Hearts Whispers – Episodes
Kevin did not sleep well. The paper he found felt hot in his pocket, like a small fire. Morning came clear and bright. Nyamugari’s hills shone after the rain. Birds called in the mango trees. He stood outside, holding the drawing Aline gave him and the wet note with her name.
He read the line again: “Aline, meet me tomorrow at the city bus park. We need to finish what we started.” No name. Only a number.
Kevin breathed in slowly. He wanted to be brave and wise at the same time. He thought of their small promise under the tree: talk when sad, share when happy, keep walking together. Promises are light, but strong. He decided.
At the tea shop near the road, steam rose from silver kettles. Moto taxis clicked as the engines warmed. Kevin dialed the number with shaking fingers.
“Hello?” A man’s voice. Calm. Low.
“Who… who is this?” Kevin asked.
“Is this Kevin?” the voice said.
Kevin froze. “Yes.”
“Good. Tell Aline to meet me at Huye bus park at ten. We must finish what we started.”
“What did you start?” Kevin asked.
A pause. Street noise. A whistle. Then, “Tell her I kept my word. That’s all.” The call ended.
Kevin’s heart beat fast. How did the man know his name? He put the phone down and stood still. He could go alone. He could hide the note. Or… he could choose trust.
He walked to Aline’s house. The ground was still soft from the rain. Children kicked a flat ball near the gate. Sandrine, Aline’s cousin, opened the door with a warm smile. “She’s in the back,” she said.
Aline sat under a small banana tree, sketching the lake from memory. When she saw Kevin, her face grew bright. “You came early,” she said.
Kevin sat beside her. “I found something,” he said gently. He showed her the paper. “I also called the number.”
Aline read the note. Her hands went still. Her eyes changed, like a cloud passing over the sun. “I know who it is,” she whispered. “I hoped this day would not come so fast.”
“Who?” Kevin asked.
She looked at him, honest and open. “My uncle Patrice,” she said. “Before my father died, he promised to help me join an art program in Kigali. We started the process months ago, but it was slow. He said, ‘When it opens, come quickly. Don’t lose your chance.’ I didn’t tell you because I was afraid to dream too big.”
Kevin felt the fear in his chest melt into something softer. “Aline,” he said, “you can tell me small fears and big dreams.” He touched the corner of her sketchbook. “We can walk in truth.”
She nodded, eyes wet. “Will you come with me to Huye?”
“Yes,” he said at once. “We’ll go together.”
The bus to Huye was half full. Women carried baskets. A baby slept on its mother’s back. A man with a radio hummed a love song. Outside, the hills rolled like green waves. Kevin and Aline sat close, not speaking much. Their shoulders touched. It felt like calm breath after a long run.
At Huye bus park, life moved fast. Conductors called places, “Kigali! Butare! Gisagara!” Buses hissed. Vendors sold bananas and roasted maize. The sun was strong, but the air was fresh after the storm.
“Over there,” Aline said softly. A tall man in a dark jacket stood near the ticket window. He wore a red scarf and held a brown envelope. When he saw Aline, he lifted his hand.
“Uncle Patrice,” she called, half smile, half worry. They met near a painted bench. Kevin stayed at her side.
Patrice’s eyes were kind but serious. “Aline,” he said, “I’m glad you came. Is this your friend?”
“This is Kevin,” Aline said. “We, we made a promise to walk together.”
Patrice nodded at Kevin. “Good. She needs people who believe in her.”
He opened the brown envelope. Inside were papers with stamps, a small ID tag, and a letter with a blue seal. “The art program called yesterday,” he said. “A place opened. They want you in Kigali by evening for final registration. If you miss today, it will go to someone else.”
Aline’s breath caught. “Today?”
“Today,” Patrice said. “Right now. The bus leaves in twenty minutes.” He held out the ID tag. “It includes a small study grant for the first term. But there is one condition.”
Aline looked up. “What condition?”
“You must stay in Kigali for six weeks,” he said. “No travel back. No distractions. Full focus. You can take one call each night. Your mother knows. She said, ‘Let my daughter fly.’”
Aline went quiet. Six weeks. No coming home. No walks by the lake. No meeting under the tree.
She turned to Kevin. Her eyes were soft and full, like the lake at sunset. “Kevin,” she said, voice low, “what should I do?”
Kevin’s mouth felt dry. He wanted to say, “Stay.” He wanted to say, “Go.” He wanted both. He looked at the red scarf, the stamped papers, the bus doors opening with a hiss.
He took her hand. “You already know your answer,” he said, though his heart shook.
The conductor shouted, “Kigali! Last seats!”
Aline squeezed Kevin’s fingers, then let go slowly. She picked up the ID tag, then looked at him one more time. “If I go,” she whispered, “will our promise still stand?”
Kevin’s voice was almost a whisper too. “If it is true, the promise will grow, not break.”
She stepped toward the bus… and froze. A woman in a blue dress had stopped in front of Patrice, arguing fast and low. Patrice’s face changed. He looked worried. He pulled out his phone and showed her the blue-sealed letter. The woman shook her head and pointed at Aline.
Patrice turned back, tense. “There is a problem,” he said. “A big one.”
End of Episode 10! Stay tuned for Episode 11
Talk to me: Should Aline board the bus now, or wait to solve the “big problem” first? Comment your choice and why.
🗳️ Quick Vote in Comments
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A) Board now | B) Wait and solve | C) Call Mama first | D) Other
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