Chapter 4 - After The Show

Something was wrong.

I could feel it the moment I walked into the venue. Amahle was on stage for soundcheck, running through her parts with the band, but she wouldn't look at me. Wouldn't acknowledge me at all.

"Hey, babe," I called out, climbing onto the stage. "Sorry I'm late. Flight got delayed."

She didn't respond. Just kept playing, her bow moving across the strings with mechanical precision.

Bongani and Karabo, my bassist, exchanged glances. Themba was standing off to the side, his expression unreadable.

"Amahle?" I tried again.

She finally stopped playing. Looked at me with eyes that were completely empty. "We need to talk after the show."

My stomach dropped. "About what?"

"After the show, Kagiso."

She turned back to the sound engineer, discussing levels and monitor mixes like I wasn't even there.

I looked at Themba. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

Fuck. She knew. Somehow, she knew.

I pulled out my phone and opened Palesa's chat.

I didn't answer. I was too busy trying to figure out how to fix this.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Amahle was just tired, stressed from the tour. Maybe I was paranoid.

But the way she'd looked at me — like I was a stranger, like I was nothing — made my blood run cold.

I'd seen Amahle angry before. I'd seen her frustrated, hurt, disappointed.

I'd never seen her look at me like that.

Like she'd already decided I was dead to her.