FROM SPARKS TO STORMS

CHAPTER 4: PROOF AND BETRAYAL.

The lesson ended but my mind was still far away. My friends could tell I wasn’t okay, but I brushed it off, saying I was just tired. Deep down, I was boiling. I needed answers.

When the last bell rang, I rushed outside, scanning the schoolyard. And there he was — Lwando, laughing with his friends like nothing had happened. My chest tightened, anger and hurt fighting inside me.

I walked straight up to him. He noticed me and smiled, but his smile faded when he saw the look on my face.

“We need to talk,” I said firmly. His friends went quiet, eyes shifting between us.

He hesitated, then followed me to the side. “What’s wrong, babe?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

I pulled out my phone and showed him the screenshots. “This. What is this, Lwando? Who’s she?”

His face froze.

He didn’t know what to say. He just stood there, eyes darting everywhere but at me. His hands fidgeted with his phone like it had the answers he couldn’t give.

I folded my arms, staring at him. "Oh, yeah. Khaya was right about you all along. Wow. I’m nothing but stupid. I’m that girl now… to other girls." My voice cracked, but I refused to let tears fall. Not in front of him. Not now.

"You’re overreacting, Amanda," he finally whispered, his voice shaking.

"Overreacting?" I took a step closer, my heart pounding in my ears. "No. I’m finally seeing you for who you are. The DMs, the calls at odd hours, the excuses… everything. You’ve been lying to me, and you still can’t even tell me the truth."

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "It’s complicated…"

I laughed—bitter and sharp. "Complicated? No, it’s not. You either love me or you don’t. You either respect me or you don’t. And right now, all I see is someone whom I call my man couldn’t even fight for me, who made me feel like I was never enough, or maybe I'm not and never will be, right?"

The silence between us grew heavier. I could almost hear my own heart breaking. "I guess Khaya was right," I muttered again, mostly to myself.

And then I turned around, my back to him, "You don’t have to explain anything. I've already heard enough."

I walked out, my heels clicking sharply on the floor like a warning. Every step felt heavy, but freeing at the same time. Behind me, I could feel him, frozen, probably wishing he’d said the right thing, wished he’d done the right thing—but it was too late.

I get home, change to my casual clothes and prepare something to eat. My phone buzzed, a message from him—but I didn’t look. Not now.

I felt the Relief that I finally saw clearly. Even though i still loved him.

Somewhere deep inside, a part of me still hoped, still ached—but I pushed it down. Right now, it was just me. Just Amanda. Stronger than before, and slowly learning that some people are only meant to teach you lessons, not be your forever.

And as I kept eating, I whispered to myself, “I’ll be okay… even better than okay.”

I cleaned the house, trying to distract myself from him. No matter how much I wanted to forget him or the situation, I hadn’t run out of love. I loved him—so much. But the pain and hurt of the situation were almost too much to bear.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and a bitter laugh escaped me as tears slid down my cheeks. Past is repeating itself, I whispered. Then, steadier this time, I said, But you’re going to be fine, Amanda. You’ve been through this before.

I washed my face, grabbed my phone, and took pictures and videos, posting one with the caption: “99 problems, but at least I’m pretty, ngl.”

A minute later, his name popped up—he’d viewed my status. Along with it came a voice note.

My heart skipped. Thumb hovering, I debated whether to listen. Curiosity won.

“Amanda … I—I didn’t mean for things to get like this,” his voice trembled through the speaker.

I let the words hang in the air, feeling the old ache in my chest. Memories of promises, late-night laughs, whispered I love yous under the stars… collided with memories of betrayal.

I pressed record on my own voice note, my hands shaking slightly, needing him to hear my truth:

“I loved you,” I said, voice steady despite the tremor. “And it hurt—more than I can explain. But I can’t let this define me. I’m not the girl who waits for excuses or words I don’t believe anymore. I need to be okay… for me.”

I sent it, then let my phone fall onto the couch. My eyes found my reflection in the window, and I saw strength staring back at me—tear-streaked, yes, but unbroken.

Somewhere deep inside, I knew this wasn’t the end of him—or my feelings. But it was the start of me choosing myself, my peace, my life.

I listened to music, letting it be my therapy in that moment. Every beat, every lyric, seemed to untangle some of the mess in my heart. After a while, I picked up my book again, switching off my phone—I didn’t want distractions. I focused on the story, losing myself in its pages.

Before I knew it, it was time to prepare supper, part of my everyday routine. Today’s menu was creamy samp with grilled chicken and salad. My mom arrived as usual, and I made her a cup of tea. She asked me to go buy some ginger biscuits, so I stepped out.

On my way, I bumped into Lwando. He walked toward me, and instantly, I froze. My heart wanted him so badly, but my mind screamed at me to be mad, to shout, to push him away. I didn’t know whether to stay cool or explode.

“I was coming to check on you,” he said softly. “I really want to talk to you… to fix things.”

I kept quiet, unsure of what to say. My stomach twisted. All I managed was:

“I’m busy cooking, so I don’t have time for nonsense.”

He looked at me, hurt flickering across his face, but didn’t press further. I walked past him, my heart aching with every step.

He shouted after me, “I’ll come back at 8, Amanda! I’ll send you a text — please reply!”

I didn’t even look back. “Oh, okay. Cool,” I said flatly, and kept walking.

Back home, I made myself a cup of tea and opened the biscuits while sitting with my mom and little sister. We were watching one of Madea’s movies, Why Did I Get Married. The kitchen smelled of creamy samp and grilled chicken. Laughter bubbled from the TV as crazy Angela yelled at her husband, and for a moment, everything felt normal.

When supper was ready, I dished up, and we all ate together, laughing at Angela’s drama. But beneath my laughter, my heart was heavy, knowing Lwando had said he’d come back.

Later, I went to my room and switched on my phone. Boom. Three messages from Lwando. My heart skipped a beat.

The first one read:

"Amanda, I love you. Baby, please talk to me."

The second:

"Baby, I miss you so much. It’s lonely without you and I don’t like us fighting. Please don’t do this to me."

And the third:

"Amanda, I’m outside. Please come out. We need to talk. Baby, please."

I sat there, staring at the screen, my chest tightening. Shock, confusion, longing — all of it came rushing at once. Why now? Why like this?