Chapter 4: Trapped in the Rain
The sky darkened before we noticed.
Thick clouds rolled in like heavy bruises over the horizon, swallowing the last gold from the sun. The wind picked up suddenly, turning soft grass into whips and bending the tall trees around us.
"We need to go inside," Naledi said, her voice calm but firm.
I nodded and stood, brushing off my jeans. As we stepped into the cabin, the first raindrop struck the roof—followed by another, then dozens, then hundreds.
Within minutes, the storm was fully alive.
Wind rattled the windows. Rain poured like grief onto the old tin roof. And thunder cracked the sky open like a scream trying to escape.
I sat near the small table, arms wrapped around my knees, while Naledi checked the shutters and stuffed an old towel against the door crack.
"Don't worry," she said gently. "It sounds worse than it is."
I didn't answer. I couldn't explain it, but storms always brought back feelings I couldn't name. I felt like a child again—waiting for something to break.
"Hey," she said, walking toward me. "Want to light a candle?"
I nodded.
She lit one on the table and the room glowed with warm orange light. It flickered across her face, softening her edges and making her eyes look like they held fire and stories and wounds.
She sat across from me, stretching out her legs.
"We're stuck in here now," she said, smiling faintly. "Storm's going nowhere until morning."
"I've been stuck before," I murmured.
She leaned forward. "Not like this. This time, there's peace."
I looked around. The room was quiet except for the storm outside. No footsteps. No yelling. No locks.
Just wood, light, and Naledi.
I leaned my head on the table. "Do you ever wonder why people survive the things they do?"
"Sometimes," she said. "Sometimes I think we survive so we can tell the truth. Even when it hurts."
I studied her face. "You always talk like you've seen the end of the world."
She chuckled softly. "Maybe I have."
She turned her head, staring at the candle. "I grew up in a place where no one said sorry. Where silence was used as punishment. You could cry, and no one would flinch. You could scream, and it would echo off the walls with no answer."
I didn't interrupt. I knew the language she was speaking.
"One night," she continued, "I left without shoes. Walked until my feet bled. I thought... if no one was going to love me properly, I'd rather be alone."
My chest tightened.
"But I didn't die," she said. "I found books. I found silence. And eventually, I found this place."
"And now me," I whispered.
She looked at me. "Yes. And now you."
Later that night, the wind howled so loud we had to sit close just to hear each other. The candle burned lower, shadows dancing around the room.
I watched her closely. The way her shoulders moved. The way her fingers tapped against the mug of tea. The scar on her wrist that she always covered without realizing.
"I have a question," I said quietly.
She nodded.
"If I... If I didn't have scars—on my body, in my head—do you think I'd still be me?"
She blinked. "Why do you ask that?"
"Because I feel like everything I am was shaped by pain. I don't know who I'd be without it. Or if that person would be lovable."
Naledi's eyes softened, and she leaned closer. "Zukhanyi, your pain doesn't make you lovable. Your strength does. Your honesty. The way you still hope, even if you don't admit it."
I didn't know what to say to that.
So I asked what I really wanted to know. "Are you afraid of me?"
She tilted her head. "No."
"Even when I shut down?"
"No."
"When I panic?"
"No."
"When I fall apart again?"
"I'll be right here."
I felt the tears rise and didn't stop them.
"No one ever stayed before," I whispered.
Naledi reached across the small space and gently took my hand. Her fingers were warm. Steady.
"I'm not everyone else," she said.
We sat like that for a long time—hands linked, breathing in sync.
I wanted to say something more, something that could name the feeling growing in my chest. But I didn't know how.
So I looked at her and asked, "Do you believe in love at the wrong time?"
She smiled faintly. "I think love comes when we need it, not when we're ready."
I nodded slowly. "Then maybe... this is when I need it."
She didn't move. Just kept holding my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The storm kept screaming outside.
But inside that cabin, for the first time in my life—I wasn't afraid of the noise.