Princess Treatment

Chapter Five: Home in Small Screens

It was Sunday. Rain tapped gently on the windows of the apartment like a lullaby, the kind of weather that made the city feel smaller, slower—almost safe.

Azania lay sprawled on the couch, a thick blanket wrapped around her legs, her laptop open but untouched. Her textbooks and campus printouts sat beside her on the coffee table, quietly judging her procrastination. But not even group assignments or unread discussion forums could compete with the call she'd been waiting all week to make.

She tapped her phone, launched w******p, and hit video call on the Mphela Family Group.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then—

"ZAZA!" Lethabo's voice exploded through the screen before her face popped up in view. "Why do you look like someone's tired mom?"

Azania grinned. "I am tired. Braam has been beating me like a red-headed stepchild."

"Language!" came her mother's voice from the background.

"Mama!" Azania straightened a little. "I didn't even swear!"

The screen jiggled and soon both her parents were squished together in the frame with Lethabo popping in and out dramatically like a hyper emoji. Their living room in Port Shepstone looked exactly the same—worn peach curtains, the faded brown couch, her dad's soccer trophies still lined up crookedly behind them on the shelf.

"How's the big city treating our girl?" her father asked, his voice always calm, always warm.

Azania sighed. "I'm surviving. Campus is intense. People are... exhausting. Assignments every week. Some lecturers talk in riddles. Tutorials at 8AM. It's criminal."

Her mother laughed. "You always did hate waking up early."

"I hate waking up at all these days," Azania said. "But I'm handling it. I even submitted early for one module."

Lethabo interrupted. "Mom told the neighbours you're working with a company now."

Azania nodded. "Yeah, it's like an internship. BrandVerse Collective. It's good experience."

"And what exactly do you do?" her dad asked.

"Well... I'm still finding my feet, but we do a lot of campaign research and creative pitches for brands. Mostly local stuff. I'm learning."

Her mom smiled. "That's good, my girl. Remember, you don't need to impress anyone. Just do your best."

Azania nodded, her eyes stinging for no reason at all.

"How's home?" she asked.

"Quiet," her father replied. "Lethabo still thinks she's Beyoncé. And your uncle's cow wandered into the road again."

"I was in the school play last week!" Lethabo said proudly. "I was the sun."

Azania burst out laughing. "I bet you stole the whole show."

"You're coming back in June, right?" her mother asked.

"Hopefully. If I survive exams."

"You better," Lethabo said. "I want braids like yours for the holidays."

Azania smiled and tucked a blond strand behind her ear. "Deal."

The call stretched for almost an hour. They talked about church gossip, Aunt Zanele's new boyfriend, and whether the municipality had finally fixed the pothole near the Spar.

When they finally hung up, the silence was soft and golden.

She opened her old journal, the one she had brought with her from Port Shepstone. Between pages filled with old poetry, school notes, and pressed flower petals, she scribbled:

"Some parts of me still live at home.

In warm towels. In Mom's voice.

In that quiet ache of wanting both places at once."

She stared at the words for a moment, then closed the journal.

Just then, her phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number popped up on the screen:

"You are cordially invited to the BrandVerse Innovation Dinner. Exclusive guests. Formal attire. Details attached."

Attached below was a sleek black invite graphic with her name on it.

She frowned, sat up slowly.

Another message followed seconds later:

"We'd be honored to have your presence. – J.M."

Azania's eyes narrowed slightly.

She didn't need a full name to know who "J.M." was.