In the blink of an eye, Tadala vanished with Tafadziwa, my old friend from years back. I used to call him a brother; we were so alike, and it felt like looking in a mirror. We shared everything, except for the young girls everyone else seemed to covet and protect. So, this revelation hit me like a punch to the gut. Tafadziwa was in love with Tadala, the girl I once held in my palms, in my DMs, and in my dreams.
It was maddening, but I chose to stay silent. Tafadziwa was blindfolded by love, oblivious to the truth that burned in the back of my mind. My grandmother's words echoed faintly, a lesson from her younger days: "Some secrets taste better when they stay buried."
"Let him think he's won himself a newly wedded angel," my alter-ego whispered, nudging me with a cruel satisfaction. "Let the silence between us do the talking. The truth will reveal itself in time."
After finishing my lunch at Tipopoke Fast Foods, I grabbed a cold bottle of
Malawian Gin on my way out. The afternoon sun was sharp, but the gin was
sharper. By the time I stumbled through my front door, it was singing in my
veins.
One sip. Two. Three. I wasn't thinking about Tadala's fake moans anymore. I wasn't thinking about her eyes, or her laugh, or the way she used to trace her fingers across my chest like she was searching for something buried under my skin. No, I wasn't thinking about her at all. I was thinking about *her*. Thocco. The girl from the University of Malawi. The one who'd crashed into me in the law school corridor, scattering books and papers like a whirlwind. Her perfume hit me first, sharp and sweet, like ripe mangoes left out in the sun. Before I could even apologize, she had snatched my assignment script, flipped it over, and scrawled her number in red ink across the margin. Her smirk was a weapon, a challenge, a dare.
And then she disappeared.
I never called.
Until tonight.
The gin had loosened something in me, something reckless and stupid. My
fingers hovered over the keypad, the red ink on that old assignment flashing in
my mind. I could still see the way her number bled into the paper, the way her
handwriting curved like a secret meant only for me.
I dialed.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
"Hello?"
Her voice was smooth, sleepy, and dangerous. It felt like it wrapped itself
around my throat and squeezed.
"It's me," I said, my mouth dry, the words coming out rough. "The guy your
body-checked outside the moot courtroom. The one whose script you hijacked."
Silence. My heart pounded. Then, laughter. Low and throaty, like a song you
only hear at night.
"I remember," she said, her voice curling into a purr that made my knees weak,
even though I was already sitting.
"You owe me a new pen. Red ink doesn't come cheap, you know." she continued.
I laughed, a little too loudly, a little too desperately. "I'll buy you a whole pack,"
I said, trying to sound smooth.
"Good," she said, and I could hear the smirk in her voice.
"You can deliver them me. Or maybe… I'll make you work for it." she ordered.
We talked for hours. About nothing and everything. About the time she almost
got expelled for sneaking a bottle of whiskey into a debate competition. About
how she hated the smell of rain but loved the sound of it.
The gin bottle wept its last drop, and still, we talked. Hip-hop underground
beats blurred into sunrise. Her voice became the only thing keeping me
tethered to the moment, her laughter a lifeline in the haze.
At some point, I must have passed out on the couch, clutching my phone like it
was her thigh.
Morning came brutal and bright, stabbing through the curtains like a blade.
My head pounded, my mouth dry as sandpaper. I sat up slowly, groaning, and
rubbed my temples. The memories of last night came rushing back, tangled
and chaotic, but one thing stood out: her voice.
I muttered a prayer like I always did, thanking God for breath, for sunlight, for
the gift of being alive and stupid. After that, I forced myself through the
motions, did the chore and let the cold shower wash away the sweat, the gin, and the sins of yesterday. But no amount of water could wash the grin off my face.
"Last night was crazy," I whispered to no one, my voice echoing in the empty
room. My stomach growled, and I realized I'd forgotten to buy breakfast bread.
I reached for my phone, and there it was a message waiting for me.
Thocco. 09:12 a.m.
"You fell asleep mid-sentence, lightweight. Coffee. Today. 4 p.m. Library café.
Don't make me hunt you down in red ink again."
I stared at the screen, rereading her words until the light from my phone
burned my eyes. My heart raced, my head spinning, but not from the hangover.
I could almost hear her voice in my head, teasing, daring me to show up.
I didn't reply. Instead, I leaned back into the couch, the grin still tugging at my lips. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but for the first time in what felt like
forever, I didn't care.