Her mother had nothing left to argue. As much as she wanted her daughter to stay home, the girl had become her quiet helper—bringing small things she could no longer ask her husband for. With no income of her own, the woman relied on her daughter's little gestures of support. Losing her, even for a short while, filled her with a helpless dread.
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In the bedroom, while her parents thought she was peacefully studying, Siyawezi was wrestling with other plans. She was trying to figure out how to carry on her secret dealings without arousing suspicion. Several young men were already in contact with her that day, asking for time with her, but the evening was proving difficult—doors locked, parents still awake.
One of them, Salimu, a secondary-school student from Nzasa, sent message after message. He was nearby and eager to see her that night. She told him to wait; she would find a way. Her phone, hidden under her notebook, vibrated with messages from others as well—names lined up as if waiting in a queue, each demanding attention. None of them meant anything to her beyond what she could gain.
When she finally heard the back door close around ten o'clock, she knew her parents had settled in. Pretending to study, she slipped her phone back out. Her mind was far from schoolwork; all she thought about was freedom, adventure, and the easy money that came with it.
Moments later, she heard the bedroom door of her father click shut. Silence filled the house. She crept into the dark corridor, careful not to make a sound, then opened the outer door with practiced ease. Switching on the light near the outdoor bathroom, she stepped out casually, pretending to be headed there.
When she returned, she noticed a shadow near the wall—a young man waiting quietly. It was Salimu. Without a word, she caught his hand and led him inside. The two slipped through the dim passage, silent except for the soft pad of bare feet.
Desire and danger walked beside them. A single careless sound could awaken the household, but neither seemed to care. For them, the night carried its own reckless charm.
Inside her room, with the curtain drawn and a faint light burning, they finally saw each other clearly. She wore a thin blouse and a short skirt wrapped loosely with a kanga. He hesitated for a heartbeat, then she motioned him closer.
What followed was a wordless exchange of boldness and restraint—a meeting where impulse met curiosity. Their closeness grew, their whispers quickened, and the room filled with the uneasy rhythm of hidden youth testing forbidden ground.
Yet behind the thrill lingered the shadow of risk—the thought of footsteps in the corridor, a door creaking open, a parent's voice calling her name.
When at last their breaths steadied and the night outside fell still again, Siyawezi sat quietly for a long moment, gazing toward the window. Whatever joy she had sought came wrapped in danger, but she had already chosen her path.