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 voice barely above a whisper, my mouth dry as the words stumbled out. "The guy you body-checked outside the moot courtroom. The one whose script you hijacked."
The silence that followed was oppressive, a heavy blanket that suffocated me. My heart th pounded in my chest like a drumbeat, the rhythm echoing in my ears. Then, a low, throaty laugh pierced the air, sending shivers down my spine. It was a laugh that sounded like a song, a melody that only played in the dead of night, when the world was dark and quiet.
"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 my fingers brushed against the screen, unlocking it with a flick of my thumb. And there it was – a message waiting for me, a digital whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. It was a text from Thocco, the words on the screen burning like a fire that wouldn't go out:
"You fell asleep mid-sentence, lightweight. Coffee. Today. 4 p.m. Library café. Don't make me hunt you down in red ink again."
The words were like a dare, a challenge to meet her, to face the fire and see what would happen next. I felt a spark of anticipation, a flutter in my chest that I couldn't ignore.
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.