Buhle had always believed that God spoke in gentle whispers—quiet nudges that settled in her chest long before her mind understood why. Some people called it intuition. She called it a gift. And on a warm Thursday morning, as she tightened her ponytail and stepped behind the pharmacy counter, that whisper returned.
It came the moment he walked in.
Ntsika.
Tall, warm-toned, and carrying the type of silent confidence that made people turn their heads without knowing why. He moved like someone who didn't need to announce his presence; the room shifted for him on its own.
Buhle felt it—an unexpected stillness, as if the world paused just long enough for her spirit to listen.
He approached the counter with a small nervous smile. "Morning," he said, voice soft but deep.
"Morning," she replied, trying not to stare. Something inside her trembled—not fear, not attraction, but recognition. A spiritual pull she had only felt once before in her life.
He wasn't supposed to look at her for long. Customers rarely did. But Ntsika did. His eyes held hers for a moment too long for strangers.
"What can I help you with?" she asked, bringing her voice back under control.
He blinked, smiled again, and finally placed the prescription slip on the counter. "Just this. And… maybe your name?" he added quietly, almost shy.
"Buhle," she said.
"And I'm ntsika."
The way he said his name made her heartbeat shift. She didn't know why.
As she prepared his medication, she could feel his gaze on her—curious, drawn in, almost studying her. But she had no idea what was happening in his mind: that he was already imagining her laugh, her softness, her scent, wondering what it would be like to hold someone like her, even as guilt tugged at the corner of his chest.
Because Ntsika wasn't a free man.
He was taken—very taken. Sihle, his girlfriend of years, was waiting at home, trusting him, loving him, believing he was hers and hers alone. But lately he had felt something shift inside him, a confusion he tried to ignore. He didn't know if it was the stress of growing older, or the weight of responsibilities, or the unpredictable loneliness that came with adulthood.
What he did know was that he wasn't supposed to feel anything for Buhle. Not even curiosity.
But he did.
And Buhle—guided not by emotion but by that unmistakable spiritual stirring—felt something even stronger.
As she handed him his medication, their fingers brushed. The contact was brief but electric. Ntsika's smile faltered. Buhle's breath caught.
"Thanks," he said, voice suddenly lower.
"You're welcome," she whispered.
He left, but the room didn't feel the same. It was as if a new story had walked in with him and stayed behind after he was gone.
Buhle stood still for a moment, staring at the doorway he'd disappeared through. The whisper in her spirit grew louder, clearer, more insistent.
You will see him again.
This is not the end.
She pressed a hand to her heart, steadying herself. She didn't want to assume anything. She didn't want to interpret the feeling wrong. But it was there—undeniable.
And miles away, Sihle sat at home, humming softly as she folded laundry, unaware that the foundation of her relationship was already shifting.
Unaware that her world would soon collide with Buhle's.
Unaware that ntsika , the man she believed she fully knew, had just met the woman who would turn his certainty into confusion.
The day felt ordinary to everyone else.
But for the three of them, destiny had already begun to move.