The next morning broke with grey clouds hanging low over the sky, as though the heavens themselves were unsure of what the day was meant to carry.
Buhle woke long before her alarm.
She had barely slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Ntsika standing beneath the streetlight, hands in his pockets, eyes full of something she didn't have a name for.
Every time she rolled over, she replayed the moment he said:
"If I leave… will you hate me?"
She had felt that question in her bones.
Now, as she sat on the edge of her bed, hands clasped tightly, she whispered into the quiet:
"God, please… I don't want to feel this. Take it away."
But nothing lifted.
Nothing dissolved.
Instead, her heart felt heavier — full of unspoken meaning.
She showered, dressed, and walked to work with slow, thoughtful steps. She rehearsed what she would say if he came back. She rehearsed what she would do if he didn't.
And each possibility hurt in a different way.
When she reached the pharmacy, Siya was already inside, humming softly and packing shelves. She looked up immediately.
"Friend," Siya said, giving her a look. "Your eyes are telling a whole story."
"I'm fine," Buhle murmured.
"You're not."
"I will be."
Siya raised a brow. "You think he's coming back?"
Buhle didn't answer.
Because she didn't know the truth.
And that scared her more than anything.
⸻
Meanwhile, across town…
Ntsika sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor as if it held answers he couldn't find.
He hadn't slept.
Not even for a moment.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Buhle — not smiling, not laughing, not flirting… but crying quietly as she wiped the pharmacy counter.
That image kept stabbing him.
Why did it bother him so much?
Why did her sadness feel like his own?
Why did the thought of hurting her make his throat tighten?
He lifted his phone.
He didn't text.
He didn't call.
He didn't trust himself enough to.
Instead, he whispered:
"God… please. I'm losing control of this."
As if on cue, the front door opened, and Sihle walked in. Her steps were sharp, irritated. She carried the smell of perfume and tension.
She didn't greet him.
Instead, she dropped her handbag onto the counter with a thud.
"So," she said, arms crossed, "are you going to tell me what's going on?"
He inhaled slowly.
"Sihle, can we not start like this?"
"No," she snapped. "Because yesterday you embarrassed me."
He frowned. "How?"
"You walked away from me. You left me standing alone. You argued with me in public. And then you disappeared!"
"Sihle—"
"No, tell me," she cut in. "What is happening with you?"
He stood up. "Nothing."
"Don't lie to me," she said sharply.
His jaw tightened.
Because he had nothing to give her.
No explanation that wouldn't cause chaos.
No truth she would believe.
"Are you cheating?" she demanded.
The question hit the air like a knife.
"No," he said immediately. "I'm not."
"Then why are you acting like this?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm overwhelmed. That's all."
"With what?"
"With… life," he said, unable to lie fully. "With things I can't explain."
"And that girl at the pharmacy?" she asked.
His heart froze.
"Sihle—"
"Don't 'Sihle' me," she snapped. "I'm not stupid. I saw how you looked at her."
Silence.
Heavy, suffocating silence.
He didn't deny it.
Because he couldn't.
Not honestly.
Not without lying to himself too.
She laughed bitterly. "Wow. So it is about her."
"No," he said quietly. "It's about me."
"Then fix yourself," she said coldly. "Because I won't be disrespected."
She grabbed her bag and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
And the silence that followed felt like punishment.Back at the pharmacy…
Buhle restocked vitamins mechanically, her mind floating elsewhere. Every time a tall silhouette passed the window, her heart jumped — only to sink again.
Just before lunch, Siya approached quietly.
"You want a break?" she offered gently.
"I'm okay."
"You're not," Siya replied. "Go breathe."
So Buhle stepped outside.
The air was warm.
Clouds still hung low.
A slight breeze whispered through the trees.
She leaned against the wall beside the pharmacy door, closed her eyes, and let herself feel everything she had been trying to suppress.
Confusion.
Fear.
Longing.
Spiritual disquiet.
Emotional pull.
And beneath all of that… something deeper.
Her spirit kept whispering:
"Pay attention."
"Pay attention."
"Pay attention."
She exhaled shakily.
Just then, her phone vibrated.
A message from her aunt again:
"You cannot run from what God is revealing. But be wise. Some connections are sent to test you, not to love you."
Buhle's knees weakened slightly.
"What do You mean?" she whispered to God.
Then another message came:
"Pray. Don't act."
Buhle took a deep breath.
She was tired.
Too tired to fight her own emotions.
So she prayed — quietly, honestly, and without pretense.
"God… if this is not from You, remove it from me completely. If it is from You, reveal the truth. I don't have the strength for confusion."
Her voice cracked.
"I don't want to fall in love with the wrong person."
⸻
Two hours later…
Buhle was back at the counter when Siya rushed over suddenly.
"Friend," she whispered urgently. "Someone's outside. Don't freak out."
Buhle's heart dropped. "Who?"
"Just… don't panic," Siya said, eyes wide. "It's him."
Buhle froze.
"Ntsika?"
"Yes," Siya breathed. "And he looks… messed up."
Buhle swallowed hard.
This wasn't good.
This wasn't good at all.
She walked to the edge of the counter slowly, then toward the pharmacy window.
And there he was.
Standing outside.
Hands clenched.
Eyes tired.
Posture heavy.
Spirit crushed.
Not confident.
Not bold.
Not flirtatious.
Just… broken.
He wasn't looking inside.
He wasn't pacing.
He was simply standing there — staring at the ground as though he was praying for strength to take another breath.
For a long moment, Buhle didn't move.
Because she didn't know what to do.
Go outside?
Stay inside?
Avoid him?
Speak to him?
What was the right choice?
What was the wise choice?
She closed her eyes and whispered:
"God… what must I do?"
When she opened them, Ntsika looked up.
Their eyes met through the glass.
And the hurt in his expression…
The conflict…
The sincerity…
It hit her like a wave.
He lifted a hand slightly — not waving, not calling her — just a small, vulnerable gesture that said:
"Please."
The room spun slowly.
Siya whispered behind her:
"Friend… you need to go talk to him."
"No," Buhle breathed. "I need to think."
"You've been thinking," Siya whispered softly. "Maybe it's time to listen."
Buhle hesitated.
Her heart thudded heavily.
Her palms grew sweaty.
Her spirit trembled.
Because she knew — deeply, instinctively, spiritually — that this moment was important.
Life-changing important.
She walked toward the door slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last.
When she finally stepped outside, Ntsika looked at her as if she were the first breath after drowning.
"Buhle," he said quietly, voice rough.
She stood a few steps away, arms crossed protectively.
"What are you doing here?" she whispered.
He swallowed hard. "I didn't know where else to go."
She said nothing.
"I'm not here to confuse you," he continued. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm not here to disrespect anyone."
Then he paused — as if forcing himself to breathe.
"I'm here because something in my chest hasn't rested since I walked away from you."
Buhle felt the air thicken.
"I tried to ignore it," he said. "I tried to convince myself it meant nothing. I tried to go about my day like normal."
His voice cracked faintly.
"But I couldn't."
He looked down again, shaking his head.
"I'm not asking you for anything," he said slowly. "I'm just asking you to hear me."
Buhle's throat tightened painfully.
She whispered, "I'm listening."
He lifted his eyes to hers — full of vulnerability.
"Something about you feels… familiar," he said quietly. "Like I've known you before. Like my spirit recognizes you."
Her breath caught.
"And that scares me," he whispered. "Because I've never felt that with anyone."
Silence fell between them.
Heavy.
Sacred.
Real.
After a long moment, he added softly:
"I don't want to lose myself in this. I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm trying to do the right thing."
"Then what are you here for?" she whispered.
He held her gaze — steady, honest, unguarded.
"To understand why my heart won't leave you alone."
⸻
The world stood still.
Buhle stared at him, shaking inside.
Her voice came out barely audible.
"Ntsika… whatever this is, it's dangerous."
"I know."
"It's wrong."
"I know."
"It could break us both."
"I know," he whispered. "But walking away from you feels worse."
Her knees nearly buckled.
He took one slow step closer.
Not enough to touch her.
Just enough for her to feel his sincerity.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered.
He shook his head.
"Nothing. I want nothing from you."
"Then why—"
"I just needed to see you," he breathed. "To understand why God is shaking my life like this."
Buhle's heart twisted painfully.
Because she felt the same thing.
Spiritual shaking.
Emotional awakening.
A connection that wasn't ordinary.
She looked down, tears filling her eyes.
"Ntsika, I prayed this morning…"
"What did you pray for?"
"For God to remove you from my heart," she whispered. "Completely."
His breath faltered.
"But He didn't," she said, tears falling. "And I don't know why."
He closed his eyes tightly, as though her words had hit him in the deepest part of his chest.
When he opened them, his voice was nothing more than a trembling whisper.
"Neither did He remove you from mine."
The wind blew softly between them.
A small gust.
A spiritual shift.
Then he said the words neither of them were ready for:
"Buhle… I don't know what this is. But I think God is trying to tell me something."
Her heart stopped.
Because she had felt the same thing.
Shaken.
Pulled.
Drawn.
Awakened.
She took a step back.
"Ntsika… listen to me carefully."
He straightened, waiting.
"We cannot follow emotions," she whispered. "We must follow God. And until He reveals the truth clearly… we cannot cross any lines."
He nodded slowly, pain flickering across his face.
"I understand," he said quietly.