BY YOUR SIDE

It is Friday, the 18th of May, and the city of Cape Town is buzzing with the energy of the approaching weekend. For Ingrid, a 26-year-old colored woman living in the sprawling informal settlements on the outskirts, Friday night means her shift at The Diamond Lounge. The club, a beacon of opulence in the city center, draws in a wealthy clientele of businessmen and prominent figures. The journey from her humble dwelling involves a crowded bus ride, the jostling bodies and loud chatter a stark contrast to the hushed quiet of her small home where her critically ill mother resides. Arriving at The Diamond Lounge, the Friday night mood is immediately apparent. The parking lot overflows with expensive cars, their polished surfaces gleaming under the bright lights. Even before stepping inside, the thumping bass of the music vibrates through the air, a promise of the busy energy within. Ingrid swipes her access card and enters the club through a staff entrance, the sound intensifying to an almost physical presence, a wall of music and voices washing over her. Inside, the club waiters weave through throngs of people, their trays filled with drinks. Laughter and loud conversations fill the air, punctuated by the rhythmic beat of the music. Ingrid makes her way to the staff locker room, the scent of perfume and cleaning supplies mingling in the air. She exchanges a brief nod with another cleaner before grabbing her bucket, mop, gloves, and mask. As she heads towards the toilets, she is intercepted by Candice, one of the vivacious waitresses she occasionally chats with. "Ingrid, girl, you are late! The VIP toilets are a disaster already. Hurry up, those big spenders are here tonight, and they are not shy about making a mess." Candice winks and rushes off, balancing a tray of champagne glasses. Ingrid sighs, the reality of her job settling in. She puts on her gloves and mask, the familiar routine a small comfort in the surrounding chaos. The first stop is the ladies' restroom, already showing the signs of a busy night. She begins to clean, the harsh chemicals a familiar scent as she scrubs and wipes. While emptying a bin, she overhears two young women speaking excitedly near the mirrors. "Those big fishes are here tonight!" one exclaims, adjusting her dress. "I hope they finally notice us," the other replies, reapplying lipstick. "They say the Arabs are very hot!" Ingrid pretends not to hear them, focusing on the overflowing bin, the desire to finish her task quickly overriding any interest in the club's clientele. She moves on to the next cubicle, the sounds of the club a constant thrum beyond the thin walls. With her section of the toilets finally clean, Ingrid feels the urge for a cigarette. It is a habit she tries to keep away from her mother, a small, stolen moment of peace during her demanding shifts. She checks her watch; a quick five-minute break should be manageable. She slips out through a back exit, the relative quiet of the alley a welcome change from the club's relentless energy. Leaning against a wall, she lights a cigarette, the first drag a moment of brief satisfaction. The night air is cool against her skin. Suddenly, raised voices erupt from the dimly lit area further down the alley. She tenses, her senses on alert. The argument escalates quickly, the angry words unintelligible. Then, a sharp crack echoes through the night, a gunshot. Two figures stumble and fall to the ground just as Ingrid's eyes adjust to the darkness. She witnesses the horrific scene unfold in front of her, the shock paralyzing her for a split second before a scream rips from her throat. She instinctively covers her ears, her mind reeling. Two men turn towards her. One of them strides towards her and grabs her arm in a tight, painful grip. "I did not see anything!" she cries out, her voice choked with terror. "Please, do not kill me! I will go back inside. I will not breathe a word to anyone!" The other man approaches, his gaze piercing. He lifts her face, forcing her to look directly at him. As their eyes meet, a strange, unsettling moment passes between them. Despite the fear coursing through her veins, Ingrid registers his striking features, the intensity of his dark eyes. "Take her to the car," the handsome man instructs his companion. "No, no, please!" Ingrid pleads, tears streaming down her face. "I have a sick mother. Please do not take me away from her!" Before she can react further, the other man produces a syringe and injects her arm. A burning sensation spreads through her veins, and the world around her begins to blur. Darkness creeps in, and she loses consciousness. Ingrid watches him, a flicker of curiosity replacing some of her fear. He moves with a quiet confidence, a stark contrast to the violent events of the previous night. She notices the way his muscles move beneath his skin as he reaches for a piece of fruit. Hesitantly, she gets off the bed and walks towards the table. She takes the plate he offers, her fingers brushing against his briefly. A strange sensation, a subtle spark, passes between them. She quickly looks down at the food, trying to ignore the unexpected feeling. She takes a small bite of bread, surprised at how hungry she actually is. Zayed watches her as he pours himself a cup of coffee He closes his laptop and turns his full attention to her. "My name is Zayed. My brother brought you here.""Your brother?" Ingrid repeats, her mind racing. "The one... the one at the club?" Zayed nods. "Yes. There was an incident." "An incident?" she echoes, disbelief coloring her tone. "Two men were shot dead! I saw it all. Your brother... he injected me with something." "It was to calm you down," Zayed explains, his expression unreadable. "We could not have you screaming and drawing more attention." "Calm me down?" Ingrid exclaims, her voice rising. "You kidnapped me! I have a sick mother at home. She needs me!" Panic begins to set in. Zayed watches her, his gaze intense. "Your mother will be taken care of." "Taken care of? What does that mean?" She demands, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, a sudden urge to escape gripping her. "It means she is safe, and she has everything she needs," Zayed states, his tone firm. "My people are looking after her." "Your people?" Ingrid whispers, fear tightening its hold. "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?" He rises from the couch and walks towards her, his movements fluid and graceful despite his imposing presence. He stops a short distance away. "You saw something you should not have seen, Ingrid." "I told you, I will not say anything! Please, let me go home," she pleads, tears welling up in her eyes. "My mother needs me. She will be worried sick." "No one will hurt you," he says, his voice low and steady. "I will make sure of it." "But why? Why not just let me go?" Ingrid asks, desperation lacing her words. Zayed hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering. "Things are complicated, Ingrid. Very complicated." "Complicated for you!" she retorts. "My life was already complicated enough taking care of my mother and trying to study. Now this?" He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. "I understand this is difficult for you but for now, you need to stay here." "For now?" Ingrid questions, her hope dwindling. "How long is 'for now'?" Zayed does not answer immediately. He looks at her, a strange mixture of something she cannot decipher in his eyes. "We will talk more later. For now, try to rest. You have been through a lot." He turns and walks back to the couch, picking up his phone and walks over to the large window overlooking the city. He dials a number and holds the phone to his ear. "Karim," he says, his voice low. "Everything is in place here. She is awake." A voice on the other end replies in Arabic, the tone sharp and questioning. Zayed responds in the same language, explaining Ingrid's reaction and her concern for her mother. He assures his brother that she has not spoken to anyone and remains secured. "No," Zayed continues in Arabic. "Do not harm her mother. Ensure she is comfortable and has whatever she needs. That was the agreement." He pauses, listening intently to Karim's response. "I understand the risks, brother, but this was necessary. We cannot leave loose ends." He turns slightly, glancing back at Ingrid who watches him with a mixture of fear and confusion. He lowers his voice. "The situation at the club is being handled. Our men are cleaning everything. The local contacts are cooperative. The authorities will believe it was a gang-related incident. We have made certain of that." Zayed listens again, his brow furrowed. "Our reasons for being in Cape Town are still secure. No one suspects our true purpose. This complication with the cleaner was unexpected." He pauses again. "Our departure is scheduled for the end of the week. We need to resolve this before then." He ends the call, placing the phone back in his pocket. He turns back to Ingrid, "My brother is taking care of your mother. She is safe." Ingrid looks at him, her eyes filled with distrust. "How can I believe you? You kidnapped me. Your 'taking care' of my mother could mean anything." "We do not harm innocent people," Zayed states, his voice firm. "Your mother is collateral, nothing more. As long as you cooperate, she will be safe and well." "Cooperate with what?" Ingrid asks, her voice trembling slightly. "What do you want from me?" "Silence," Zayed replies simply. "You saw something. We need to ensure you do not speak of it to anyone." "And keeping me locked up in a hotel is your way of ensuring that?" she retorts, a spark of defiance in her eyes. He walks closer again, his gaze intense. "It is a temporary measure. Once we leave Cape Town, you will be free to go back to your life." "And when will that be?" Ingrid presses. "Soon," Zayed says, "A few more days." Ingrid looks at him, trying to read his expression. There is something in his eyes, a flicker that goes beyond mere calculation. Perhaps it is the shock of the situation, or maybe it is something else, but she thinks she sees a hint of…something. "Why are you in Cape Town?" she asks, deciding to try a different approach. "What kind of business brings you to a place where people get shot in a club?" Zayed hesitates for a moment. "Our business is private." "Private business that involves guns and dead bodies?" Ingrid challenges. He does not answer, his jaw tightening slightly. The silence in the room becomes heavy, filled with unspoken questions and rising tension. Ingrid knows these are dangerous men, involved in something illegal. Her life has been turned upside down in a single night, and she is trapped in a world she never knew existed. Zayed moves towards the mini-fridge, opens it, and takes out a bottle of water. He opens it and offers it to Ingrid. She eyes the bottle suspiciously before taking it from him. She takes a small sip, her gaze fixed on him. "You should eat something," Zayed suggests, gesturing towards a covered tray on a nearby table. "My staff brought breakfast." Ingrid remains seated on the edge of the bed. "I am not hungry." "You need to keep your strength up," he says, his tone surprisingly gentle. "This situation is not easy for either of us." "You are the one who had people killed and then kidnapped me!" Zayed sighs, running a hand through his hair again. "I did not want this to happen. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time." "Wrong place? That was my workplace! I was just trying to earn a living and take care of my mother," she retorts, her voice filled with frustration. He walks over to the window again, looking out at the cityscape. "Life is not always fair." "Tell me about it," Ingrid mutters under her breath. A silence falls between them, broken only by the distant sounds of the city. Ingrid watches Zayed, trying to understand the man who has so abruptly disrupted her life. He appears conflicted, almost weary. "You are different from your brother," she observes. "He seemed cold." "Karim does what is necessary," Zayed says, his tone defensive. "And what is necessary for you, Zayed?" Ingrid asks, her gaze unwavering. He looks at her, a long, silent moment passing between them. "What is necessary is to ensure everyone is safe. Including you." Zayed walks over to the table with the breakfast tray and lifts the cover. The aroma of fresh bread, cheese, and fruit fills the air. He takes a plate and begins to arrange a small portion. "Eat something," he says again, his voice softer this time. "It will make you feel better." Ingrid watches him, a flicker of curiosity replacing some of her fear. He moves with a quiet confidence, a stark contrast to the violent events of the previous night. She notices the way his muscles move beneath his skin as he reaches for a piece of fruit. Hesitantly, she gets off the bed and walks towards the table. She takes the plate he offers, her fingers brushing against his briefly. A strange sensation, a subtle spark, passes between them. She quickly looks down at the food, trying to ignore the unexpected feeling. She takes a small bite of bread, surprised at how hungry she actually is. Zayed watches her as he pours himself a cup of coffee To be continued. ....