FROM SPARKS TO STORMS

Chapter 6: SHADOWS AND PRIORITIES.

Sisipho leaned closer, her voice soft but firm. “You know, Amanda… I think you should forgive him. Give him another chance. This guy really loves you.”

I shook my head, my chest tightening. “If he really loved me, Sisipho, he should’ve showed me a long time ago. Why is he only showing me now?”

My voice cracked as the memories came flooding back. “I cried because of him. I looked stupid in front of you guys, his other girlfriends, even his friends. Do you know what that feels like? Sleeping with a heavy heart every night—it’s not child’s play, Sisipho. Please.”

The table went quiet for a moment. Sisipho dropped her eyes, guilt written all over her face.

Lelethu reached out, touching my hand gently. “You’re right, friend. You don’t deserve any of that.”

Olwethu sighed, shaking her head. “Honestly, Amanda, sometimes I don’t even know what to say. But one thing I do know—you’re stronger than all this nonsense.”

Their words hit different. For the first time, I felt seen—not just as the girl who was caught in the middle of love drama, but as Amanda, their friend who was hurting.

I quickly changed the subject and started talking about Lwando.

They all leaned in. “Ohhh, okay! So you decided to give him another chance?”

I shrugged with a little smile. “Yeah… maybe. I mean, there’s only one way to find out—by giving it another chance.”

They all smiled knowingly, and Olwethu clasped her hands together dramatically. “I pray he loves you properly this time. No mind games.”

“Let’s hope, friend,” I replied, and we all laughed—except Sisipho.

I turned to her. “So, what? You mad because I don’t love Khaya?”

She looked up from her phone. “Why would I? It’s just… the joke wasn’t joking for me.” Then she went right back to scrolling, her face unreadable.

I tilted my head, suspicious. Something about her vibe felt off, like she was holding back, but I brushed it off. Not a biggie, I told myself.

The bell rang. Break was over. Time for another lesson. Every time I had to walk to class alone, I got bored—me and my crazy friends were never in the same class, and the day always dragged without them.

As I hurried down the corridor, my phone buzzed. A new voice note from Lwando. My heart jumped, but I didn’t dare play it—I was already late. With a sigh, I slipped my phone back into my bag and rushed into class, my mind racing.

What could he possibly have to say now?

I slid into my seat, dropping my bag with a thud. The urge to check my phone was strong—my fingers itched to play that voice note—but I forced myself to focus.

The teacher started scribbling on the board, and I tried to follow along, but my thoughts kept drifting. What did Lwando say? Was it another apology? A confession? Or just more sweet talk to pull me back in?

I bit my lip, shaking my head. No. Not now. I won’t give him that power, not during class.

So I shoved my phone deeper into my bag, folded my arms, and stared at the board, pretending to pay attention.

Still, deep down, I knew the first thing I’d do after school was press play.

I nearly forgot I had a program to attend after school until my teacher reminded me. “Amanda, don’t forget—you’ll be representing the class today. Remember, you scored the highest marks last time.”

My eyes widened. Oh, is that time already? I forced a smile. “Oh yes, ma’am.”

As I continued writing notes, everything about Sisipho and Lwando shifted to the back of my mind. My focus was now on the debate—one on one with learners from other schools.

When I finished copying from the board, I quickly pulled out my notebook and started drafting my points. The topic was tough but exciting: Today’s economy and the leadership skills our president needs to have.

I tapped my pen against the page, preparing myself, knowing this wasn’t just another school activity. If I won the debate, my school would be marked as the best high school in the area. And beyond that—I’d get to represent my hood against schools outside our area.

But even as I wrote, my heart whispered, Play the voice note.

My mind, though, was firm: No. Focus. This is bigger. This is about you.

For once, I chose school over distractions.

Then the last bell rang. My teacher, Miss Poni, and the principal, Mr. Mnguni, were going to accompany me to the program. We drove off to the venue, and thankfully, we arrived on time.

I joined the other learners, trying to blend in and focus. But then I saw her—the girl from Lwando’s chat that Khaya had shown me. My stomach dropped, and everything inside me flipped upside down. Am I the only one who knows about her? Does she even know about me?

Thoughts swirled in my mind, but I shoved them down, determined to focus. I reminded myself: this debate wasn’t just any school program—it was my chance to shine, to prove that I could represent my hood and make my school proud.

I found my spot among the other students, notebook in hand, heart still racing but with renewed determination. I would not let Lwando or anyone else distract me—not now. Not when this was my moment.

As the program began, I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and prepared to step into the spotlight.

But deep down, I knew that after today, I’d still have to deal with the questions in my heart… and the voice note waiting in my phone.

I took a deep breath and stepped up to the debate circle. Other learners from schools across the area were already there, some whispering to each other, others confidently rehearsing their lines. My heart thumped, but I held my head high.

The moderator called my name. “Amanda Nohako, representing MASIBAMBISANE HIGHSCHOOL, please begin.”

I opened my notebook, glanced at my notes, then looked up at the audience. My hands were steady, my voice clear.

“Today, we discuss the economy and the leadership skills our president must possess,” I began. “A strong leader listens to their people, makes informed decisions, and inspires growth and equality. Our economy thrives when leadership is responsible, transparent, and committed to the welfare of all citizens.”

I paused to let the words sink in. The other students were nodding, scribbling notes, some whispering among themselves.

As I continued, I felt my confidence growing. I can do this. This is my moment. I laid out my points with precision, citing examples and emphasizing solutions that were practical yet inspiring.

When I finished, the room erupted into polite applause. My heart raced, not just from speaking, but from the realization: I wasn’t just competing—I was representing my hood, my school, and myself.

Even with everything swirling in my mind—Lwando, that girl, and the voice note—I had won this moment. My focus, my voice, my determination had taken control.

As I stepped back to my seat, a small smile tugged at my lips. No distractions. Today, I chose me.

As I settled back into my seat, trying to catch my breath, my phone buzzed quietly in my bag. I felt that familiar flutter in my chest—Lwando.

I ignored it at first, reminding myself that I had just owned the debate. Not now. Focus, Amanda.

But the buzz came again, persistent this time. Finally, I peeked at the screen. A voice note. My heart skipped.

I stared at it for a long moment, thumb hovering over the play button. Just listen. Just a quick one.

No. I shook my head. Not yet. I chose today. I chose me.

So I tucked the phone back into my bag, sitting up straighter. Around me, other students were chatting about the debate results, the judges’ comments, and who was likely to win. I forced myself to listen, laugh along when someone cracked a joke, but every so often my eyes drifted to my bag.

That voice note was waiting for me—patient, persistent, demanding attention. And I had to admit… part of me wanted to press play. But Amanda Nohako was not just anyone. Today, she was focused, strong, and unshakable.

The voice note can wait.

After the program ended, the teachers and I walked back to the car. Only a few students had qualified to attend—the top performers, the ones who had proven themselves in academics, debates, and leadership. My heart still skipped a beat knowing I was among them. I’d earned my spot.

But then I saw her—the girl from Lwando’s chat that Khaya had shown me—sitting quietly among the other qualifiers. My stomach dropped, and everything inside me flipped upside down. And I was like she's really the competition now.

Back at home, I finally allowed myself a moment to breathe. I closed my bag, set my books aside, and there it was again—my phone, buzzing silently, waiting. That voice note from Lwando stared at me, daring me to press play.

I stared back at it, heart hammering. Do I? Should I? My fingers itched, but I reminded myself of the strength I’d carried through the debate. Not yet. I earned a little peace before I deal with him.

I sat on my bed, letting the silence wrap around me. The room felt calm, almost sacred, like it belonged to me for just a few moments. I played some music softly, letting the melodies take over my racing thoughts.

But even as I closed my eyes, I couldn’t ignore the lingering questions: What does he want to say? Does he really feel sorry, or is this just another game? And what does that girl have to do with all of this?

The voice note waited. And I waited too.

Hours passed, and the house was quiet. My mom and little sister were asleep, the soft hum of the fan filling the room. I sat on my bed, notebook still open from earlier, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the phone buzzing silently on my desk.

That voice note from Lwando… it felt like it had a heartbeat of its own, pulsating with everything I wasn’t ready to face. I picked up my phone, thumb hovering over the play button. My heart was pounding.

Just listen. Just a quick one, my mind whispered.

I shook my head, trying to steady myself. No. Not now. I promised myself I wouldn’t let him control my emotions today.

I set the phone down, taking a deep breath, closing my eyes. The debate, my win, my focus—it was all mine. And I wasn’t going to let one voice note ruin this victory.

Still… curiosity clawed at me. What if this changes everything?

I pressed my lips together, telling myself I could wait… just a little longer.

I left it like that , I fall asleep.