Chapter 3 - Midnight Again

CHAPTER 3: MIDNIGHT AGAIN

The two days after the biscuit exchange passed in a blur of wrapping paper, family lunches and me checking my phone more often than a woman with dignity should.

Khaya had not called. Not once.

There were reasons, I told myself. His parents had plans. Mine had plans. Christmas made ordinary adults behave as if every spare minute belonged to somebody else. Still, I could not stop replaying the way he had said he had always had a crush on me. He had kissed me like he meant it, then let me run inside without making me explain what I felt back. It was considerate. It was also enough room for every fear I had to build a house.

Lwazi sent one message from Mauritius on Christmas morning: a photograph of bright water and a sentence asking whether I was okay. I stared at it until the screen dimmed. For the first time in a year, I did not feel the usual rush to reassure him. I deleted the message and helped Mama carry food outside for lunch.

I told myself it did not matter. We had slept together once, kissed twice and unearthed an old crush that should probably have stayed underground. He lived in Sandton. I lived in Sandton. That did not mean either of us had promised anything. Still, every time my phone lit up with a family WhatsApp or a delivery notice, disappointment moved quietly through me.

On Christmas Eve, I gave up waiting and settled on the stoep with a book while the late summer sky turned purple. The air smelled of rain on hot tar. Then there was a knock at the front door.

Khaya stood there with another plate of ginger biscuits.