In Between Leaving and Becoming

The message came at 18:42. “Just finished my last lecture 😭 campus is actually so beautiful, Naledi. I wish you were here.” Naledi stared at her phone until the screen dimmed. Outside, the sun was setting behind cracked windows. Inside, her aunt’s voice bounced off the walls, sharp and impatient. A baby cried somewhere down the hall—again, and for too long. She typed “I wish I was there too”… then deleted it. Instead, she sent: “I’m proud of you ❤️” That’s what you say when your best friend is living the life you were supposed to share. ********** Ayanda had always been the bright one. Not just in marks though she had those too but in the way she moved through life like it was already opening for her. She was Naledi’s best friend since Grade 9, the kind of friend who knew your thoughts before you said them out loud. They had planned everything together. University. Residence life. Freedom. Leaving. But Ayanda left. Naledi stayed. ******** “Are you going to sit there all day like you don’t live here?” Naledi flinched slightly at her aunt’s voice. Her aunt—her mother’s older sister—was the kind of woman who filled a room with tension before she even spoke. Loud when she didn’t need to be. Careless in ways that mattered. The house always felt like it was one bad moment away from breaking. “I’m coming,” Naledi said quietly. She stood up, stepping over toys scattered across the floor. Her little cousin sat in the corner, his face tear streaked, his cries now reduced to small hiccups. No one picked him up. Naledi paused for a second. Then she didn’t. Because she had learned—helping too much only made her aunt angrier. ************ This wasn’t where she thought she’d be. Not after high school. Back then, Naledi had been the hopeful one—the girl who believed that hard work and prayer would open doors. She wasn’t the smartest in class, but she was consistent. Quietly determined. She believed in timing. In God. In things working out. Until they didn’t. ************* Her results came. University applications followed. Rejections came faster. “I’ll rewrite,” she told her mother, her voice steadier than she felt. Her mother nodded, but her silence carried disappointment she tried hard to hide. That was how Naledi ended up at St. Catherine’s Rewrite Academy. A place full of second chances that didn’t feel like they were meant for people like her. The first day she walked through those gates, she knew. Girls stepped out of expensive cars, laughing like life had always been soft for them. Their confidence wasn’t loud it was effortless. Naledi adjusted her blazer, suddenly aware of every detail about herself. Her shoes. Her accent. Her silence. She didn’t belong here. And everyone could tell. “You’re new, right?” The girl’s smile was polite, but her eyes scanned Naledi too quickly. Naledi nodded. “Yeah.” “Which school were you at before?” Naledi told her. “Oh.” That one word ended the conversation. It always did. ************ By the second week, Naledi had mastered invisibility. Speak when spoken to. Sit quietly. Exist—but don’t be seen. *********** The only person who still saw her was 100,000 km away. Ayanda. Calls became shorter. Messages less frequent. Not because she didn’t care—but because her life had finally started. Naledi understood that. Understanding just didn’t make it hurt less. ***** The night Naledi felt her faith slip wasn’t dramatic. No lightning. No breakdown in the middle of the room. Just a quiet moment. She sat on the bathroom floor, knees pulled to her chest, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please… just make a way for me.” She didn’t ask for perfection. Just… relief. Silence answered. Not peaceful silence. Empty silence. The kind that makes you feel like your words didn’t land anywhere. That night, Naledi didn’t stop believing in God. She just stopped believing He was listening. ⸻ After that, everything felt heavier. School. Home. Her thoughts. Especially at night. She would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, her mind refusing to rest. What if nothing changes? What if this is it? And sometimes—quietly, dangerously—her thoughts would drift somewhere darker. Not loud. Not planned. Just a tired whisper: What if I could just stop feeling like this? Naledi would sit up immediately, her heart racing. “No,” she’d whisper, shaking her head. “No I can’t” She didn’t let the thought stay. Because even now—somewhere deep inside her there was still a small, stubborn voice. What if it gets better? ******* “You always sit alone.” Naledi looked up, slightly startled. The girl standing in front of her held a sketchbook, her expression calm, almost knowing. “I’m Zinhle,” she said. Naledi hesitated. “Naledi.” Zinhle nodded like she had expected that answer. “Yeah. I’ve seen you around.” Naledi gave a small shrug. “I like being alone.” Zinhle tilted her head. “Or you just got used to it.” That hit. Naledi didn’t respond. But she didn’t walk away either. That was how Zinhle entered her life. Not loudly. Not all at once. Just… gently. ⸻ And somewhere, without Naledi realizing it yet someone else had already started noticing her too. Not the way others looked at her. Not with judgment. Not with curiosity. But with quiet understanding. His name was Kabelo.