Princess Treatment

Chapter Four: Placards and Pop Bottles

Monday morning cracked open with the sound of someone blendering a banana smoothie at 7AM.

Azania groaned and pulled her comforter over her head, already regretting not sleeping with earphones in.

"Rise and resist, capitalist puppet!" Pru's voice boomed from the kitchen.

Azania poked her head out like a grumpy kitten. "Pru. For the love of Nescafé... not today."

"You promised you'd join us for the protest this week!" Pru walked in with a cup of hot water and lemon, her afro picked perfectly, earrings the size of saucers. "Today is literally the big day."

"I have campus," Azania said, yawning. "Group work and two modules back-to-back."

"That's why protests exist, babe! To make room for students like you to breathe!"

The sunlight warmed the walkways of campus as students buzzed around in various fits—sweatpants, slides, corset tops, blazers with jeans. A sea of individuality.

Azania was in her usual campus 'armor': a cropped white hoodie, black leggings, and sneakers. Her braids were tied up in a bun. Headphones in. Ready to get things done.

Inside the marketing lecture room, she slipped into a seat beside Yonela, who was applying brown lip liner in her front camera.

"Girl," Yonela said without looking. "You missed it. The morning drama with Mr. Motsane and those two guys fighting over the PowerPoint remote?"

Azania chuckled. "How do people even argue about presentations?"

"Group work is the devil's invention," Yonela replied, putting away her mirror. "You coming to the protest later?"

Azania sighed. "Apparently I don't have a choice. Pru's already making me a placard."

They both laughed.

The day rolled on with tutorials, submission reminders, a last-minute assignment handed in through gritted teeth and unreliable campus WiFi. Azania snuck in a 20-minute gym session at the small student fitness room before heading home.

After class, Azania joined her group in the chilly, over-air-conditioned lab. Four students. One Google Doc. Infinite frustration.

"Guys, please," she begged. "Let's just divide the slides and review it tonight. My battery's dying and I need to be somewhere."

Lebo rolled his eyes. "Every time. Azania always rushing somewhere. You're not that busy."

"I actually am," she snapped, tightening her ponytail. "I'm interning. I'm protesting. I'm surviving."

"Don't forget thriving," said Anele dryly.

They laughed. The tension softened. They wrapped up with barely functional slides and way too many fonts.

By 4PM, she was standing in the middle of a roaring student protest outside the Wits Great Hall, her cardigan tied around her waist, holding a placard Pru had painted in bold:

"DECOLONISE EDUCATION NOW!"

Students danced and chanted. Some climbed lamp posts. Others live-streamed the protest to their thousands of followers.

"Hold it like this!" Pru instructed, adjusting Azania's placard.

Azania blinked down at the hand-painted sign:

"EDUCATION IS A RIGHT, NOT A PRIVILEGE!"

"Could've made it cuter," she muttered.

"You're lucky I didn't make you wear the costume," Pru smirked, pointing to someone in a papier-mâché toilet suit labeled "NSFAS SYSTEM."

Drums, chants, and horns filled the street outside Wits. Students danced, sang, and yelled slogans at passing journalists and curious drivers.

Azania held her placard and swayed a little, enjoying the music. Then someone started a struggle song remix with an amapiano beat and a bass drop. She couldn't help but laugh.

It wasn't exactly what she'd call "fun," but it was electric. Loud. Real.

When it ended hours later, her throat was sore and her feet were aching.

"You did good today," Pru said, wrapping an arm around her. "You showed up."

Azania smiled softly. "I might even come next time."

"You have to. We're going to DRAMA tonight."

"Wait—what?"

Azania blinked. "Isn't it a Monday?"

"In Jozi," Pru said, "the party calendar doesn't care about yours."

Later that night, DRAMA pulsed with smoke and coloured lights. It smelled like gin, hubbly, and egos. The DJ was spinning a Kabza deep cut that thudded through Azania's chest as they entered.

She wore a simple black slip dress with her grey cardigan over it, and lip gloss that caught every flicker of light. Her braids shimmered gold under the neon. She felt underdressed—yet oddly grounded.

"Pru... is that—"

"Thebekhalelo. Yep."

Ghost Hlubi and Seemah were seated near the DJ booth, flanked by guys in branded bucket hats. Sonwabile leaned casually on a velvet booth edge, mid-convo with Zillewizzy, who was showing off on i********: Live. Sonwabile looked too cool for his own skin in an oversized denim jacket and designer shades indoors.

Azania's mouth parted. "Is this... real life?"

Pru smirked. "Welcome to Joburg, babe. Stay hydrated."

They danced, they took photos, they avoided drunk girls crying about their exes in the bathroom. For a moment, Azania forgot about internships and essays and the boy she had blocked.

Later, she stood at the balcony, cooling off, overlooking the glittering city lights when a voice beside her said:

"You're not from here, are you?"

She turned to find Sonwabile lighting a cigarette, offering a lazy grin.

"What gave it away?"

"You look like you still believe people are mostly good."

Azania raised an eyebrow. "And that's bad?"

"In this city? It's cute."

They talked for a bit—mostly about music, the madness of influencer culture, and how Joburg's weather never matched its calendar. He didn't ask for her number. She didn't ask for his. It was perfect.

Azania entered the office with coffee in hand and mild regret behind her lashes.

Abednego side-eyed her. "Late night?"

"DRAMA," she mumbled.

Thish gasped. "Nooo, I saw that party on everyone's stories. Wait—were you in the background of Thebekhalelo's video?"

"Am I famous now?" Azania joked.

"Almost. Don't change on us."

They all laughed as the elevator dinged.

Jared was reviewing files when Lwazi knocked once, then entered.

"Venue and guest list for the Innovation Dinner confirmed, sir. Press and partners have been briefed. Azania Mphela will receive a special invite by tomorrow."

Jared nodded.

"Anything else, sir?"

He looked down at the list of names.

"Clear my Friday evening."

Lwazi blinked. "All of it?"

"All of it."

He poured himself a neat whiskey, swirling the amber liquid.

"Let the games begin."