FROM SPARKS TO STORMS

CHAPTER 1: FROM SPARKS TO STORMS.

chapter 1: CALL OF FATE.

It was a late Saturday evening. I was walking with my niece and her friend, coming from my aunt’s house. Up ahead, I noticed two boys walking together, the other is light skin, tall, Korean eyes and has bald and other is short, brown. One of them called out to me the one who'slight skin, so I turned around, thinking maybe they were lost or needed directions. But instead, I realized I had stolen his eyes.

We didn’t talk much at first. He just smiled and told me to send him a friend request on f*******:. I could already see he was taken by my beauty.

Later that same day, we crossed paths again. This time he was alone, and I was with my sister. We chatted for a little while, he asked my name i told him my name is Amanda and he said his name is Lwando, before we went our separate ways, he asked if he could come see me that night. I said “okay,” and then we parted.

That night, after he said he’d come see me, I heard him call my name. I was glad I was the one who heard him first — if someone else had heard, it would’ve been a disaster. I stepped outside and he asked me to come with him. I asked where we were going and he said, “We need to talk.” He was calm and shy, and low-key I liked that — I smiled to myself, thinking, damn, I make him shy.

We went to his place. He offered me a seat and sat down next to me. We were both blushing; it was awkward and exciting because we were still strangers to each other. We talked for a while, then he asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes — I was already taken by him: his calm spirit, his voice. We kissed. He invited me to sit on his lap and we kept kissing; he rubbed my butt and gently laid me down on his bed. Still kissing, he took off his jacket and tee, then helped me out of my clothes — and we did the deed.

After the deed, we cuddled — hugging each other tightly. He played with my breast, and I kissed his forehead. We lay there listening to music; his favorite song at the time was “Super Dupa” by K.O. I asked him, “Why don’t you make music?” but he just kept quiet and squeezed me closer.

Then came a knock at the door — his friends. We quickly got dressed and let them in. They greeted me politely and sat down, and I knew it was my cue to leave since it was already late.

He walked me home, and on the way he said, “I wish it could stay like this.” I told him, “If we want it to, it will last.” He smiled and said we should meet again tomorrow, Sunday. I agreed.

That night was beautiful, I won’t even lie. I went home with flashbacks replaying in my mind, every detail.

The next morning, Sunday, my cousin asked me who I had been walking with the night before. I gasped — I thought no one had seen us, but I was wrong. I opened up and told her about him. To my surprise, she seemed to like him immediately and was happy for me.

We spent the morning doing house chores together, laughing and singing. Even as we joked around, I found myself missing him already. That’s when it hit me: I was falling in love with this guy.

We didn’t get to meet that Sunday, but we spoke on the phone instead. The conversation flowed so easily, and I couldn’t stop blushing. Later, I took a bath, got ready for the day, and spent the afternoon at home with my cousin. We chatted about our relationships, shared secrets, and took pictures together.

By Monday, I couldn’t hold it in anymore—I told my friends about my new relationship. I was so excited that keeping it a secret felt impossible. Later that day, I went to see him. It wasn’t for long, just a quick moment to chat and check in, but even those little glimpses felt special. My friends came to fetch me from his crib because we had plans: we were going to surprise one of our girls with food—her favorite thing in the world.

We went to KFC, bought her favorite meals, then headed to another friend’s house where the birthday celebration was already set. She had no idea. She walked with us the whole time, not realizing we were planning everything behind her back. When we shouted surprise, her shock was priceless. She laughed, she cried, she ate—and it was beautiful. The day was perfect: food, music, laughter, liquor.

But even in the middle of all the fun, my mind drifted back to him. With a little buzz from the drinks, my heart longed for his arms. I texted him, asking if he could come get me. He did. And that night, just like before, we ended up in his bed—wrapped in passion once again.

The morning after was supposed to be for school, but instead we chose each other. We cuddled under the warmth of his arms, the world outside forgotten. He surprised me with breakfast in bed, and for a moment, it felt like a dream I never wanted to wake up from.

Later, he walked me home. I bathed, did my house chores, and all the while we stayed connected over the phone—laughing, teasing, and filling the spaces in between with words that felt like music.

By afternoon, he came back for me. At his crib, we played Ludo and cards, telling stories in between. His laughter filled the room, and mine followed. It was simple, yet magical—the kind of happiness that doesn’t need grand gestures, only the right person.

It turned out my friends had also skipped school that day. Messages started flooding our w******p group chat, but I didn’t want to be distracted. I wanted him—all of him, all of our moments together.

So, without thinking twice, I switched my phone to airplane mode. No buzzing, no notifications, no interruptions. Just me and my man. In that quiet space, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

We fell asleep together, my head rising and falling on his chest. Oh, I slept like a baby curled against its mother—safe, warm, loved. Hours slipped by in what felt like seconds.

When we finally woke, I splashed water on my face, giggling as it dripped down my cheeks. But reality pulled me back fast. He had to take me home, because duty was waiting there.

I knew my mother would be furious if she found me gone again—first for not sleeping at home, second for skipping school. If she came back to an empty house with no food on the stove, it would only make things worse.

So, even though my heart wanted to stay with him, I left. Torn between love’s escape and the responsibilities that never let me go.

When I got home, I went straight to the kitchen. I cooked beef mince lasagna—my mother’s favorite dish. The smell filled the house, rich and comforting, but my heart was racing.

When she walked in, I could tell she wasn’t buying my act. She asked about yesterday, her voice heavy with suspicion. I couldn’t tell her the truth—not about him, not about us. So I lied.

I told her I had been at a friend’s birthday celebration, and it had gotten too late to come home. I said we all slept over together. “It’s not a biggie, Mom,” I added, trying to soften her glare, trying to calm her rising anger.

After supper, I washed the dishes and left the kitchen spotless. My body was tired, but my heart was restless. Lying in bed, I grabbed my phone. I texted him—just a little chat, a sweet goodnight. Oh what a long day only then did I let sleep take me, wrapped in the comfort of his last words.