"We all need to talk. No games. No hiding. Let's face this."
Zenande sat first, earlier than anyone. Hidden in an oversized coat, dark glasses masking her emotionless eyes, she sat with her hands clasped together. She wasn't the same Zenande from six years ago—the once soft-spoken woman who whispered dreams into Nokwanda's skin at midnight. This Zenande was colder, quiet, watching everything around her like a hawk guarding secrets.
The door opened, and Thando walked in. Her presence brought warmth but also a cautious fire. She looked at Zenande and paused. For a moment, their eyes held each other in a frozen battlefield. Neither blinked. Neither bowed.
Then Nokwanda stepped in.
She looked regal. A long black suit, heels clicking powerfully against the marble, her hair tied back neatly, but her face carried the weight of years. Her heart raced. This wasn't just a meeting—it was a confrontation between her past and present. Between her wounds and her healing. Between love and pain.
"Let's sit," Nokwanda said quietly, motioning to the table. "We're not here to fight… yet."
Zenande smiled faintly. "Yet."
Thando cleared her throat but said nothing, folding her hands on the table.
The silence pressed heavy on them for a moment before Nokwanda broke it.
"I loved you both," she said, her voice trembling, honest. "I didn't plan it. I didn't even know it was possible to love two people this differently. Zenande… you were my soul. My first everything. I broke when you left. When you faked your death."
Zenande lowered her eyes. "I had to. It was never about you, it was survival."
Nokwanda shook her head. "But I was dying while you were surviving. I was drinking to sleep. I talked to your grave every night like a fool. Do you know what it's like to plan a life with someone and bury them instead?"
Silence.
Thando finally spoke. "She loved you, Zenande. She still does. But she didn't choose me out of pity. I'm not a replacement. I stood beside her every night while she cried. I helped her breathe again."
Zenande looked at Thando, the corner of her lips twitching. "And I watched all of it. Every kiss. Every touch. Every time she whispered my name in her sleep."
Nokwanda flinched. "You had cameras in my house?"
"Yes," Zenande answered unapologetically. "I watched to protect you. That's all I ever wanted. But then I saw how you were rebuilding. And I hated that I wasn't beside you. I wanted to come back but I wasn't done."
Nokwanda slammed her hand on the table. "You watched me beg for your memory to return! You let me mourn you!"
Thando reached to touch Nokwanda's hand, but Nokwanda pulled back.
"No. Let me say this," she said firmly. Her eyes turned back to Zenande. "You faked your death and made me think I was crazy. I had to learn to live without you. I did that. And now I have a woman who's been loyal. Who's been here. Who never lied. So why now? Why come back when I've finally… almost healed?"
Zenande's voice cracked for the first time. "Because I still love you."
Silence again.
Then Nokwanda did something unexpected.
She stood up. Walked to the bar. Poured herself a shot of whisky. Downed it.
Then another.
She turned back, eyes glistening. "I don't know what I'm going to do with either of you. I'm not ready to choose. Maybe I never will. But you both better understand one thing…"
She walked back to the table and stared at both of them.
"I am no longer a woman who begs to be loved. If you want to love me, come correct. Don't make me bleed again."
The air in the room remained heavy even after Nokwanda's declaration.
Zenande's throat tightened as she looked at the woman she had once died for. There was no mistaking it—Nokwanda was no longer the girl who used to whisper "don't leave me" in her arms. She had grown into a woman who built empires from pain.
And Thando, seated quietly, was no fool either. She felt the storm building inside Nokwanda, and deep down, she knew this meeting wasn't about choosing between them—it was about uncovering every truth left unsaid.
"I don't want to fight you," Thando said softly, finally breaking the silence.
Zenande raised her eyes. "You already are. You've been fighting since the day you stepped into her life."
Thando didn't flinch. "You died. I didn't kill you. I loved her while she cried for you every single night. And if you hadn't faked your death, maybe things would be different. But you left. You let her bury you."
"She wouldn't be alive if I hadn't left," Zenande said calmly. "They would've killed her too."
Nokwanda exhaled. "Don't make this sound like a sacrifice. You could've told me. We could've left together. Started again."
Zenande stood slowly, taking off her dark glasses. Her eyes were wet but proud. "I didn't want you to live in fear. I wanted to destroy them first. I watched every step of your healing. Every tear. Every victory. I was with you, even in my absence."
Nokwanda looked away. "But it wasn't your place anymore."
Zenande nodded. "Maybe not."
Thando stood too. "What now, Nokwanda? You said you don't want to beg to be loved. Neither do we. You say you love us both. But love without clarity is a curse."
"I know," Nokwanda whispered. "That's why I brought you both here."
She reached into her bag and took out three identical black velvet boxes.
Zenande's eyes narrowed.
Thando watched quietly.
"I had these made," Nokwanda began. "Not because I want to marry both of you—not yet. But because I want to start healing all of us. I can't lie to myself anymore. I love you, Zenande. And Thando, I love you too. Not one more than the other. Not in comparison. In two different ways. But both equally real."
She opened the boxes. Each had a custom silver ring with intertwined names engraved inside.
"Zenande. Thando. This is my truth. I don't want to lose either of you. I want us to stop hiding. I want us to figure this out together, not as enemies… but as partners. Even if it's messy. Even if we don't have all the answers. Even if the world will never understand what this is… I want the both of you. I want us."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Thando sat slowly, blinking as if she hadn't heard right. Her heart raced, pounding in her chest like war drums. "You… want the three of us? Together?"
Zenande narrowed her eyes slightly, unreadable. "You think this is realistic? Some fairytale where we all live happily ever after?"
"I don't know," Nokwanda admitted. "I'm not promising perfect. I'm promising honesty. I'm promising effort. I'm saying… I'm willing to try. With you. Both of you."
Zenande let out a small laugh, more bitter than amused. "You want me to share you?"
"No," Nokwanda said gently, shaking her head. "I want us to rebuild together. To heal. To stop pretending like love is a limited resource. I didn't fall out of love with you, Zenande. I simply learned how to love again when I thought you were gone forever."
She turned to Thando, who now had tears shining in her eyes. "And you… you reminded me I could be touched again. Kissed again. That I could laugh without guilt."
Thando's lips trembled. "You're asking us for the impossible."
"I'm asking for something real," Nokwanda whispered.
Zenande walked over slowly and picked up her box. Her eyes locked on the ring.
Zenande & Nokwanda & Thando.
Three names, one bond.
"I'm angry," Zenande said, her voice low. "But I'm also tired. I've been fighting ghosts for years. Maybe it's time to stop. Maybe… it's time to live."
Thando stood again. "This doesn't mean we just move on like nothing happened."
"It means we deal with it together," Nokwanda said. "We start slowly. We talk. We fight. We heal. And maybe… just maybe… we love."
Zenande reached out, touching Nokwanda's hand for the first time in years. "If we're doing this, we're doing it right. No lies. No disappearing acts."
"Agreed," Nokwanda replied, squeezing her hand.
Thando took a deep breath… then nodded. "One condition. We go shopping together tomorrow. The three of us. As a test."
They all burst out laughing, the first shared moment of lightness in what felt like eternity.
"Deal," Nokwanda smiled.
Zenande smirked. "You'll regret it. I still have expensive taste."
Nokwanda grinned, holding both their hands.
For the first time in years, she felt whole.