We should what?
1204 Words
Nomadlozi woke up with a dull ache in her head and a dry throat.
Her hand fumbled along the nightstand like muscle memory until she found her last cigarette. She lit it, got up, and quietly opened the balcony door.
The morning sun hadn’t fully risen, but the sky was soft—hazy with promise.
Across from her, Adam stood on his balcony, mug in one hand, his other swiping slowly across a tablet. He hadn’t noticed her. Good.
Nomadlozi paused. Her stomach twisted as flashes of the previous night crawled back.
His arms. The swing. The almost.
Her pulse quickened. She quietly stepped back inside and shut the door like she was closing off the whole moment.
She sat at the edge of her bed, took a drag, and exhaled slowly. Maybe too slowly.
“Haibo... unbelievable.”
Nomafu burst into the room, shutting the door behind her with a loud click.
“And then?” Nomadlozi looked up, caught mid-drag.
“You still smoke? I thought you stopped that nonsense!” Nomafu grabbed Nomadlozi’s cologne and started spraying it like it was insect repellent.
“Uthoughtelani wena?!” Nomadlozi snatched it back.
“Do you know how much that costs?”
“You're suffocating me.” Nomafu waved a hand in front of her nose like she was swatting a fly.
“Fufu, please. Go to your room. I’m not in the mood.”
But Nomafu was already opening the windows.
“Fine, but also... can we just talk? You shouldn’t be smoking in your room anyway.”
She turned toward the balcony again and grinned.
“Mhhhh mntase, but Adam? That one is still a snack, neh?”
Nomadlozi froze.
She stood, walked toward the corner of the room, then dropped the cigarette into a glass with a hiss.
“About Adam...”
Her voice came out hesitant, cracked at the edges.
“I think I might have... kind of... told him about the wedding.”
“You did what?”
Nomafu rushed to close the balcony door like Adam could hear them from miles away.
“I'm sorry! I didn’t even know he didn’t know. We were just talking and—”
“It wasn’t your place, you pig!”
Nomafu swatted the glass out of her sister’s hand. It hit the ground hard and shattered.
She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Nomadlozi just stood there, staring at the door. Then at the time.
“Sh*t.”
She was late.
---
After a five-minute shower, Nomadlozi was dressed in a crisp oversized white T-shirt tucked into light-blue boyfriend jeans. She threw on her white AF1s and tied her frontal into a neat back-knot. A dab of foundation, brows brushed up, light gloss—done.
Simple. Clean. Beautiful. No effort, no frills.
By the time she walked into LR Designs, it was already 10 a.m.
She breezed past the reception, scanning the floor.
Rails? Straight.
Mannequins? In place.
Windows? Clean.
She didn’t have time to micromanage today. She had a deadline to meet.
She headed toward her office—but froze.
Adam had just walked in.
He looked calm. Smooth. Dressed in grey jeans, a fitted black tee, and brown sandals. Somehow, even in something so simple, he looked like he belonged on the cover of a men’s health magazine for emotionally complicated men.
His presence filled the room before he even said a word.
There was heat in the air—maybe it was her chest. She didn’t know anymore.
He wandered slowly, hands behind his back, eyes skimming the displays like a curious tourist.
Nomadlozi’s heart jumped. She fumbled over a box near her desk and nearly went down, but before she hit the floor—
“Gotcha.”
Strong arms caught her mid-fall.
“Hi,” he smiled down at her.
Their eyes met for a second too long.
She wriggled out of his arms.
“What brings you around?”
“Just wanted to see the magic. You’ve done a great job here.”
He picked up a miniature mannequin and spun it in his hands.
“Adam, I’m busy.” She took the mannequin out of his hand.
“Don’t touch things you don’t understand.”
He smirked. That smirk she hated.
“Let’s date.”
Her brain blanked.
“What?” She squinted at him like he’d spoken another language.
“Let’s date.” His voice was calm. Grounded. Serious.
“Adam, I don’t understand.” Her chest tightened. She took a step back.
He stepped forward, gently grabbed her hand.
“Let’s get some coffee.”
---
It was only when they were halfway down the street that Nomadlozi realized she hadn’t even told her receptionist she was leaving.
“What was that?” she asked, finally snapping out of the haze.
“I want us to date.”
His hand still in hers. He didn’t let go.
She stopped. Pulled her hand away.
“How? Why? You’re my sister’s boyfriend.”
“Was.” he corrected, pulling her hand back again. “A long time ago.”
“Same difference,” she mumbled, eyes down.
---
The coffee shop was almost empty. A few people reading. Some on laptops. A couple whispering in the corner. The world was quiet enough to hear spoons clink against mugs.
They sat near a window where the light kissed her face gently.
The waitress brought their order.
Nomadlozi took a sip—and gagged.
“Mhhhh... I hate coffee.”
Adam laughed, full and honest.
“You’ll never change.”
She raised a brow at him, motioned to the waitress.
“Can I please get orange juice instead?”
Adam snatched her mug.
“Guess I’m drinking both.”
“You’re still stingy.”
She broke into laughter that made her eyes crinkle.
“Money conscious, I say. Stingy, you say.”
He laughed too, then paused. His finger tapped the mug slowly.
“I got a haircut... for you.”
He said it like a confession.
She looked up. “Oh, really?”
His voice softened. “I was serious, Dlo. I am serious.”
Her smile faded.
“That’s impossible, Adam. You know it.”
She shook her head slowly.
Just yesterday, he thought she was the one getting married. Now this?
“Why?” His voice rose, strained.
*“Last I checked, Nomafu and I broke up ten years ago. And she has a child now—Goddammit!”
He slammed his palm on the table, making the cups rattle.
Nomadlozi flinched.
The coffee shop went quiet. All eyes turned to them.
“Adam, stop,” she whispered.
She looked around, cheeks burning.
“I think I should go.”
She stood up and grabbed her bag, leaving her untouched orange juice behind.
Adam watched her walk away. Her silhouette curved out of sight behind the glass.
He couldn’t breathe.
He loosened his collar, then called for the bill.
As the waitress walked away, he stood, chest heaving, hand twitching—then in one swift motion, he flung his arm across the table, sending both coffee mugs crashing to the floor.
Shards flew. Coffee spilled across the tiles like dark regret.
- Writer
