Growing Shadows
1250 Words
Chapter 3
Growing Shadows
The years passed slowly at first.
Then all at once.
At eleven years old, Khwezi still waited excitedly beside the house phone every evening for Sipho’s call. Sometimes they spoke for hours about school, cartoons, teachers they hated, and what life in Johannesburg was like.
At thirteen, they started video calling through Sipho’s mother’s phone. Khwezi loved teasing him about his deepening voice and taller body.
At fifteen, they began sharing secrets they told nobody else.
At sixteen, boys started noticing Khwezi at school.
But she ignored them all.
Every time her friends asked why she never dated anyone, she simply smiled and changed the subject.
Only she understood why.
A promise made beneath a tree may have sounded childish to everyone else.
But not to her.
Never to her.
And Sipho kept his promise too.
Every birthday, flowers arrived at her house anonymously.
Every Christmas, gifts appeared with handwritten notes that always ended the same way:
Still connected.
As the years passed, their friendship became the safest part of Khwezi’s life.
But outside that friendship, strange things continued happening around her family.
Her father still came home late many nights.
Sometimes Khwezi heard him arguing with unknown people on the phone behind closed doors.
Sometimes unfamiliar cars parked outside their house for hours before disappearing again.
And sometimes she caught fear in her mother’s eyes for no reason at all.
Whenever Khwezi asked questions, they always smiled and said the same thing.
“Adult problems.”
By the age of seventeen, her father began teaching her things no normal father taught his daughter.
“How to hold a gun properly.”
“How to break someone’s grip.”
“How to spot danger in crowded places.”
At first she thought it was exciting.
Then confusing.
Eventually, frightening.
One Saturday morning, they stood alone inside an empty field outside the city while Mr. Vilakazi taught her how to shoot.
Khwezi lowered the gun nervously after missing the target again.
“I don’t understand why I need this stuff,” she complained.
Her father walked behind her calmly and adjusted her posture.
“Because life changes quickly.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It’s not supposed to.”
Khwezi sighed dramatically.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Talk like some mysterious movie character.”
Her father laughed softly.
“Maybe I missed my calling.”
Khwezi smiled slightly before aiming again.
This time, the bullet struck near the center.
“There you go,” he said proudly.
Khwezi lowered the weapon with surprise.
“I actually hit it.”
“You’re smarter than you think.”
A shadow crossed his face afterward.
Almost like sadness.
Khwezi noticed.
“You okay?”
Her father looked away briefly before smiling again.
“Yeah.”
But she knew he was lying.
That evening, Khwezi sat on her bedroom floor during another phone call with Sipho.
Now nineteen years old, his voice sounded deeper and calmer than she remembered from childhood.
“You still alive over there?” he teased after she stayed quiet too long.
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous activity.”
She rolled her eyes despite smiling.
“My dad’s acting strange again.”
“He always acts strange.”
“No, worse lately.”
Sipho became quiet for a second.
“What do you mean?”
Khwezi hesitated.
“I don’t know… it feels like he’s preparing me for something.”
“What kind of something?”
“He keeps teaching me fighting and shooting.”
Silence.
“Sipho?”
“Yeah?”
“Do your parents act weird too?”
Another pause followed.
Longer this time.
“Sometimes,” he admitted quietly.
Khwezi sat upright slightly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Sipho laughed softly, but it sounded forced.
“Khwezi…”
“Hmm?”
“No matter what happens later in life…”
His voice suddenly sounded distant.
“…promise me you’ll stay careful.”
A strange chill passed through her.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just worry about you.”
“You sound weird.”
“Maybe I miss you.”
Khwezi’s heart skipped unexpectedly.
The silence between them suddenly changed.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
Then Sipho cleared his throat awkwardly.
“You should sleep. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
Khwezi smiled slightly.
“You too.”
“Goodnight, Khwezi.”
“Goodnight, Sipho.”
Neither of them disconnected immediately.
Neither wanted to be the first.
Eventually, the call ended.
Khwezi stared at the necklace around her neck thoughtfully.
Something about Sipho’s voice tonight felt troubled.
Afraid even.
She almost called him back.
But she didn’t.
And later, she would regret that decision forever.
Two years later…
Khwezi’s world shattered on a cold winter morning.
She was twenty years old when police officers arrived at her university apartment.
At first, she thought something had happened at home.
Then she saw the expressions on their faces.
And suddenly she knew.
No words were needed.
The drive to the morgue felt unreal.
Her entire body numb.
The officers explained there had been a car accident on a highway outside Port Elizabeth late the previous night.
Brake failure.
Instant death.
Khwezi barely heard anything after that.
Inside the cold hospital room, she stood frozen beside two covered bodies.
Her parents.
Gone.
Just like that.
No goodbye.
No warning.
Nothing.
Her knees finally gave out beneath her.
A broken scream escaped her throat as grief crashed into her completely.
The world became pain.
Days blurred together afterward.
Funeral arrangements.
Relatives she barely knew.
Sympathy.
Flowers.
Black clothing.
Crying until she physically could not anymore.
Through it all, one thing hurt almost as much as losing her parents.
Sipho was gone too.
For nearly two years now, she had not heard from him or his family.
No calls.
No messages.
Nothing.
At first she thought maybe they lost numbers.
Then she worried something terrible had happened.
Now, standing beside her parents’ graves, she felt truly alone for the first time in her life.
Rain poured heavily during the funeral.
People slowly left afterward until only Khwezi remained beside the graves.
She stared silently at the fresh soil.
“I don’t know what to do now,” she whispered brokenly.
The wind answered with silence.
A black umbrella suddenly appeared above her head.
Khwezi turned slowly.
A tall older man stood beside her wearing an expensive dark suit.
His expression carried sympathy — but also caution.
“Miss Vilakazi?”
Khwezi wiped her tears tiredly.
“Yes?”
“My name is Austin Reed.”
He handed her a business card carefully.
“I was your father’s attorney.”
Khwezi frowned slightly.
“My father had an attorney?”
Mr. Austin looked surprised by the question.
“Yes. For many years.”
Something inside Khwezi tightened immediately.
Another secret.
“Your father instructed me to speak with you only if…” He paused carefully. “Only if something happened to both your parents.”
Khwezi stared at him silently.
The rain continued falling around them.
“There are things your father wanted you to know,” Mr. Austin said quietly.
Fear slowly crawled into her chest.
“What things?”
Mr. Austin looked toward the graves briefly before answering.
“The truth about who your father really was.”
- Writer
