I learned what quiet sounded like.
Not the quiet of an empty room. Not the quiet of being ignored.
This was the quiet of wind on the balcony. Of my own breathing. Of no one hooting outside my gate.
I sat there most evenings with tea. Watched Joburg turn orange, then purple, then black. No one called me. No one waited for me.
For the first time, that felt like peace. Not loneliness.
Month one hundred and four, Amahle came home for mid-semester break.
He brought books. Heavy ones. Thermodynamics, Calculus, Physics. He spread them on my kitchen counter like they were gold.
“Aunty, can I study here? Res is noisy.”
I cleared the table. Put his books where my keyboard used to be. “This is your desk now,” I said.
He kissed my forehead. “You built me a desk before I even asked.”
Mont
