By the time Kingstar turned ten, everyone in the house had learned to keep their broken radios, old phone chargers, and remote controls far from his reach not because he would damage them, but because he would open them up.
Sometimes he fixed them.
Other times… well, they never worked again.
Kingstar wasn't destructive. He was just curious. He wanted to understand why the fan turned with a button, how batteries gave power, why the blender made that loud hum before working. He'd sit quietly, eyes sharp, brain ticking.
But curiosity has two faces wonder and danger. And at age ten, Kingstar was about to meet the second.
It was a Saturday afternoon, the kind where the sun sat lazily in the sky and the air smelled of fried plantain. His mother had gone to the market. His father was on a delivery trip to Sunyani. The house was calm.
Kingstar wandered into his parents' room, looking for the radio. But instead, something shiny caught his eye on the top shelf: a small black jewelry box, velvet on the outside, with gold trimmings.
He pulled it down gently and opened it.
Inside was a golden necklace with a small heart-shaped pendant delicate, beautiful, and unfamiliar. He had never seen his mother wear it before.
He looked closer.
"Maybe there's something inside," he whispered to himself.
In his mind, the pendant was more than just a decoration maybe it was a locket. Maybe it opened. Maybe it had a message or picture inside. And so, he started working on it.
He got a small knife from the kitchen and gently tried to pry it open.
Click… crack.
Suddenly, the heart-shaped pendant snapped in half not a locket. Just a pendant. One side rolled under the bed.
Kingstar froze.
His hands shook. He stared at the broken necklace in horror. He didn't even know what it meant just that it looked important.
When his mother came back that evening, she noticed the box on the floor.
Her voice trembled.
"Who touched this?"
Kingstar came forward slowly.
"I thought… I thought it could open. I wanted to see what was inside."
His mother went silent.
"This necklace," she said after a pause, "was a gift from your grandmother. She gave it to me on my wedding day. She told me to keep it for the day your wife is old enough to wear it."
Kingstar's heart dropped.
It wasn't just a necklace. It was a memory, a promise, a legacy from someone who was still alive. Someone who might one day ask about it.
"I'm sorry, Mama," he whispered, his eyes burning.
His mother didn't scold him. She just said,
"Curiosity is a gift, Kingstar. But without respect and patience, it can break what can't always be fixed."
That night, Kingstar couldn't eat. He couldn't sleep. All he could think about was his grandmother's smile, how she always called him her "bright boy," how she gave him extra meat at family gatherings and how hurt she'd be if she found out.
The next morning, he used his own savings coins he had hidden in a Milo tin and went to a watch repairer at the Anomangye junction.
"Can this be fixed?" he asked, holding out the broken pendant.
The old man took it, squinted, and nodded slowly.
"Maybe," he said, "but next time, if you want to know how something works… come learn from me first."
And so, a lesson was learned not from punishment, but from remorse, responsibility, and the start of something new.
Kingstar didn't stop being curious. But from that day on, he became more careful, more thoughtful and a little wiser than his age.
Because some lessons don't come from school.
They come from the weight of a broken pendant in your pocket