Chapter Three: Between Calls and Coffee
994 Words
The Saturday morning light spilled into the apartment in soft sheets, filtered through linen curtains and the humming noise of the fridge. Azania sat cross-legged on her bed, her MacBook beside her, half-typed essay blinking on the screen, and a mug of green tea warming her palm.
Her phone vibrated with the familiar w******p ringtone. She accepted the video call and smiled the moment she saw the three faces on screen.
"Hello, my baby!" her mother beamed from their kitchen in Port Shepstone, with a wooden spoon in hand and apron already dusted with flour.
"Mama," Azania grinned. "You've already started baking?"
Her father walked behind her mom, stealing a scone from the tray. "Some things don't change."
Azania laughed, then spotted her little sister popping up from under the counter. "Lethabo! You cut your hair!"
Lethabo grinned with braces identical to her big sister's, her curls now trimmed into a tiny afro. "I wanted to look like you!"
Azania's smile faltered for a second—touched. "You look beautiful, sunshine."
"We miss you," her mother said more gently. "How's the big city treating you?"
Azania sighed, adjusting her phone. "It's...a lot. School, internship, dealing with my roommate's chaos. And Braam smells weird."
"You always liked the coast more," her dad chuckled.
"I miss hearing waves instead of hooting."
Lethabo whispered, "Did you meet any celebrities yet?"
Azania winked. "Not yet. But if I do, I'll ask them to greet you."
Azania looked cute but effortless—small box braids in a low ponytail, gold hoops, white crop tee under a puffer jacket, and flared jeans hugging her gym-toned frame. She spotted Mahlatsi at the corner table of Father Coffee, sipping an iced chai, eyes glued to his phone.
She slid into the chair across from him. "Hey, sorry. The Uber dropped me further down."
He didn't smile. "Yeah. It's cool."
She frowned. "Okay... are you okay?"
He exhaled hard. "You know we haven't chilled properly in two weeks, right?"
"I know. I've been swamped, baby—assignments, internship, classes—"
"But we're dating," he cut in, "and I barely see you. You cancel plans. You miss my calls."
Azania blinked. "You think I enjoy that?"
"I just think," he said, voice rising slightly, "that if you really wanted to make time, you would."
The table went quiet.
Azania stood slowly. "I'm not doing this."
"Doing what?"
"This guilt trip. I'm not going to apologize for building something for myself."
"You're acting brand new, Azania—like Braam's changed you already."
She clenched her jaw. "Goodbye, Mahlatsi."
And she walked out, ignoring the eyes, the tension in her chest, and the buzz of her phone lighting up with his angry messages.
The villa smelled of aftershave, s*x, and success.
Jared buttoned up a crisp white shirt, tucking it neatly into tailored slacks. The two women still tangled in his Egyptian cotton sheets were laughing softly, skin glowing under soft lighting.
He didn't look at them when he said, "Your Ubers are outside."
One of them scoffed. "We haven't even had breakfast."
He turned, smile absent. "You weren't invited for breakfast."
A moment later, they were gone, heels clacking against marble. Jared adjusted his cufflinks.
"Your charm never fails," came a voice from the lounge below.
Jared descended the stairs and smirked. "Castro."
They embraced like brothers—Jared's cousin and the Mayor of Sandton, dressed in loafers and a patterned shirt that cost more than someone's rent.
They sat down on the leather sectional. A bottle of Glenfiddich sat ready. Jared poured two glasses, neat.
"Tell me about this muse," Castro said, sipping slowly.
"She's different," Jared replied. "Young. Brilliant. Has that spark that's hard to find."
"You like her."
"I don't do 'like'."
Castro chuckled. "Fine. But if she's that special—don't scare her off with your usual games."
Jared raised an eyebrow. "You have a better idea?"
"Do what you do best," Castro said, leaning in. "Wrap it in work. Offer benefits. Be upfront. Tell her you're interested. Not in dating—but in something...mutual."
Jared said nothing.
"And don't forget the NDA," Castro added.
Jared clinked his glass in agreement
Azania stepped into the office wearing a mocha-colored bodycon dress, soft beige cardigan, white sneakers, and a minimal beat of makeup—just a hint of foundation and gloss. She looked grown.
Abednego did a double take near the elevator. "Wait. Wait, wait—who's this? Where's our girl with the baggy hoodies?"
She laughed. "She evolved."
Thish appeared behind him. "You look like a young CEO who fires people politely."
Azania playfully flipped a braid. "I'll have you both on warnings by lunch."
Abednego winked. "Honestly, for a 19-year-old, you're built different."
"I go to the gym. Was on the swimming team in high school."
"You were giving swimmer shoulders! It all makes sense!"
They walked into the boardroom laughing. But her phone kept buzzing.
Mahlatsi.
Apology. Anger. Guilt. Repeat.
She stared at the screen.
Blocked.
Azania pushed the door open, hoping for peace.
Instead: chaos.
Pru was surrounded by poster boards, paint, fabric, and at least six other people chanting, "Fees Must Fall, Land Must Be Returned!"
"Azania!" Pru called out. "Come paint with us!"
"I—what—is happening?"
"It's protest week, babe! We're reclaiming the future."
Someone accidentally dipped a paintbrush into Azania's herbal tea.
She sighed, removed her shoes, and tiptoed through the chaos. "I just wanted peppermint tea and maybe not to inhale paint fumes."
"Come back when you're less capitalist!" one of the protestors shouted playfully.
Azania blew a kiss from the hallway. "Send me a pamphlet."
The city lights shimmered outside Jared's glass office at the top floor.
Lwazi, his assistant, stood at the door with a tablet.
"Confirming the list for the Innovation Dinner, sir. Finalising invites."
"Add one more," Jared said.
Lwazi tilted his head. "Name?"
Jared's eyes didn't leave the skyline.
"Azania Mphela."
- Writer
