Morning crept gently over the hills beyond Maputsoe, brushing the land with the pale colours of dawn. The taxi moved slowly through the mist, its headlights dim in the growing light. Lomile sat still, her head leaning against the cool glass, the road humming beneath them like a slow heartbeat.
She had not slept much. Between the rhythm of the journey and the nearness of the man beside her, her mind refused to rest. His presence was quiet but impossible to ignore. Even in sleep, he carried a certain calm, a stillness that filled the space around him.
When he stirred, she lifted her eyes. His gaze met hers, calm and rested, as if he had been awake for hours. He smiled faintly, his expression soft but assured.
"Morning," he said quietly.
"Morning," she answered.
The air inside the taxi felt warmer now, touched by the scent of rain and dust from the open window. Ahead, the road curved through gentle valleys. Some passengers were still half asleep, their heads resting against the seats. Others spoke in hushed tones about the long trip ahead.
Lomile wanted to ask him his name but hesitated. Instead, she asked where he was headed.
"Teyateyaneng," he said, adjusting the bag at his feet. "My stop should be soon."
"You live there?"
He shook his head. "No. I am only visiting. My car broke down in Alberton. I stay in Johannesburg. I took the taxi because I wanted to check on the farm and see my grandmother. She is getting old, and my father asked me to make sure the workers are doing things properly. It has been a while since I last came home."
He spoke simply, but there was something grounded in his tone, something that carried quiet discipline. Lomile listened, feeling each word settle like warm rain on dry soil.
"You are an only child?" she asked softly.
"Yes," he said with a smile that almost hid a trace of loneliness. "The only one. Sometimes it feels peaceful. Sometimes heavy. There is no one to share the weight."
She nodded slowly. "My mother used to say being alone teaches you strength. Maybe she was right."
He looked at her for a moment, his gaze steady. "It teaches strength, but also silence. You learn how to keep things inside."
His words touched something she did not know how to name. The silence between them changed again, turning from polite quiet to something deeper. Lomile watched the land pass outside the window, the soft rise of hills and the faint smoke from distant homes. The early morning felt alive with whispers.
They rode in silence for a while. The taxi's rhythm was steady, and the driver's music played low, a slow melody that matched the mood of the morning. She felt his presence beside her like a quiet force, not demanding but undeniable.
When the driver called out that they were approaching Teyateyaneng, her chest tightened. She had known the journey would end, but she had not expected it to matter. Yet here she was, wishing for a few more minutes.
He reached for his bag and looked at her. The way he moved carried calm purpose. He paused before standing. "It was good to share this road with you," he said gently.
She looked up. "It was," she replied.
He hesitated for a brief second, as if listening to something within himself. Then he took out his phone. "May I have your number?"
The question carried no urgency, yet it allowed no refusal. It was neither bold nor hesitant. It was simply truth spoken aloud. She took his phone, her fingers brushing his hand, and typed her number slowly. When she handed it back, her eyes lingered on his.
"Thank you, Lomile," he said, his voice low.
Her eyes widened. "You know my name?"
He smiled faintly. "You said it once in your sleep."
Her cheeks warmed, and she looked away, pretending to adjust her bag. The driver honked softly to call passengers boarding for Maseru. The sound broke their small silence, though neither wanted it to.
He stepped out of the taxi, adjusting his jacket. Through the open door, cool morning air flowed in, carrying the smell of soil and wet grass. He turned back to her once more.
"Travel safe," he said. "Drink water. Rest when you arrive."
She nodded, unable to speak. He gave a small smile, the kind that said more than words, then closed the door and walked toward the roadside. She watched until the taxi moved, until the shape of him grew smaller in the mist and finally disappeared.
The seat beside her felt suddenly empty, as if the space he had filled still carried his breath. She looked out the window, her heart steady but full.
Minutes later, her phone buzzed. A single message.
Unknown Number: You looked peaceful when you slept. I will take that image with me.
Her breath caught. She read the words twice, feeling them travel through her chest. They were not romantic, not even personal, yet they carried weight. She typed slowly, afraid to ruin the moment.
Lomile: Safe travels, Vincent.
The reply came almost immediately.
Vincent: Thank you. Do not rush your day. The world waits better for those who move slowly.
She smiled, the corners of her lips trembling slightly. She read the words again, her fingers tracing the edge of the screen as if it were his hand.
The taxi rolled on, passing small villages and fields of maize that shimmered in the rising sun. The journey to Maseru still stretched ahead, but she no longer felt tired. Somewhere between the miles and the morning light, a small connection had taken root.
Lomile leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and let the road hum beneath her. She could still feel his presence beside her, calm and patient, as if he were still watching her breathe.
She whispered his name once, letting it rest on her tongue. Vincent. It sounded like a promise, quiet and unhurried, waiting for its time.