MISREAD

MISREAD

Some wounds are inherited. Some cycles are broken.

CHAPTER ONE

Saturday Morning

Saturday mornings were my favourite.

Not because I had anything particularly exciting planned, but because Saturdays gave me permission to do absolutely nothing without feeling guilty about it.

I could sleep a little longer, leave my phone on silent, ignore the world for a few hours and enjoy the luxury of being alone.

I liked being alone.

There was something comforting about waking up in a room where everything was exactly where I had left it. My clothes were neatly arranged, my shoes were in their usual place, and there was no one asking questions before I had properly opened my eyes.

My room was my little world. I liked it that way.

Unfortunately, that particular Saturday had other plans.

My phone started ringing.

I ignored it.

It stopped.

A few seconds later, it rang again.

I groaned, turned towards my bedside table and reached for it without even looking at the screen.

"Hello?"

"Zuri."

My father's voice.

I opened one eye.

"Yes, Daddy?"

"Did you see the people outside?"

I frowned, still struggling to wake up.

"What people?"

"The people at your door. Open for them."

I slowly pushed myself up against the headboard.

"Daddy, what people?"

"Just open the door, my child. I want you to organise that space for her. She'll be staying with you for the time being. We'll make other arrangements later."

I stared at my phone.

For a moment, I wondered whether I was still dreaming.

"Staying with me?"

"Yes. Their accommodation was cancelled at the last minute. They're stranded, Zuri. They don't have anywhere to go, and school resumes on Monday."

I rubbed my face.

"Daddy, I don't want a roommate. You know I love my space. I don't like sharing my room with people."

"I know, my child. I know you don't like staying with people, but you have to do this. Please accommodate them for the time being. They're stranded, and I wouldn't ask if it wasn't necessary."

There it was.

My child.

I knew that voice. I knew those words.

My father had a particular way of approaching me whenever he wanted something he knew I wouldn't willingly agree to. His voice would soften, and suddenly I would become my child.

He knew I had a soft heart. He knew I struggled to say no, especially when someone made me feel as though refusing would make me a bad person.

And he knew I would eventually give in.

I sighed.

"Okay, Daddy."

"Thank you, my child. I'll call you later."

The call ended.

I stared at the screen for a few seconds before dropping the phone onto my bed.

There went my peaceful Saturday.

I dragged myself out of bed, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself. I was still half asleep, wearing nothing but my bra and the towel, when I shuffled towards the door.

I hadn't even brushed my teeth.

I opened it.

Standing outside were two unfamiliar faces. An older woman and a younger girl.

Both looked at me expectantly.

I blinked, trying to gather my thoughts.

"Good morning. How can I help you?"

The older woman smiled.

"Good morning, dear. We were directed here by your father. My daughter will be staying with you for a little while."

I looked at the girl standing beside her.

Then back at the woman.

Then back at the girl.

I was beginning to feel that my father had left out a rather important detail.

"My father?"

"Yes. He said he had spoken to you."

I almost laughed.

Spoken to me?

Apparently, a thirty-second phone call counted as a full discussion.

"Oh. Right."

I stepped aside slightly, allowing them to see inside.

The girl gave me a small smile.

I returned it, although my mind was already somewhere else.

A roommate.

A complete stranger.

In my room.

For an indefinite period.

I had not signed up for this. I hadn't requested company, and I certainly hadn't woken up that morning expecting to share my personal space with another human being.

But there they were..

CHAPTER ONE — Saturday Morning (Continued)

By the time I had showered, dressed and made myself something to eat, I had almost convinced myself that the whole situation wasn't as bad as I had initially imagined.

Almost.

A few hours later, I heard voices outside.

They were back.

I opened the door and found Tsholi carrying a shopping bag while her mother struggled with two larger bags and another suitcase.

"Hey, Zuri!" Tsholi greeted cheerfully.

"Hi."

"Guess what? We actually found most of my things, but my mother forgot to buy some of the stuff I asked for."

Her mother laughed.

"Because apparently, you need an entire supermarket to survive."

Tsholi rolled her eyes.

"Mom, I'm just saying. I need my things."

I stepped aside to let them in.

They began bringing everything inside. There were clothes, toiletries, groceries and a few other things I couldn't immediately identify.

I watched as Tsholi placed her bags beside the second bed.

"Finally! I was beginning to think I'd have to spend the whole weekend living out of a suitcase."

I smiled faintly.

She turned towards me.

"By the way, Zuri, what are you studying?"

"Electrical Power Engineering."

Her eyes widened.

"Really? That's interesting! I'm also at the polytechnic. I'm nineteen, by the way. How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"Oh, so you're older than me!"

I nodded.

She continued talking, barely giving the silence a chance to settle.

She told me about her previous accommodation, how frustrating the cancellation had been, the people she had met at college, and how she was hoping this semester would be better than the last one.

I listened, occasionally responding with a word or two.

Then she started telling me about her family.

I learnt that she was close to her mother, that she had siblings, and that she wasn't particularly fond of staying in one place for too long.

She spoke with her hands, laughed at her own stories and moved around the room as though she had known me for much longer than a few hours.

I, on the other hand, was beginning to wonder whether she ever ran out of things to say.

"So, Zuri, are you always this quiet?"

There it was.

I looked up from my phone.

"Not really."

She tilted her head.

"Then you're just shy?"

I gave a small shrug.

"Maybe."

She laughed.

"Don't worry. We'll get you talking."

I smiled politely.

We'll see about that.

Tsholi was an interesting character.

I had known her for barely a day, yet somehow I already knew things about her that I wouldn't tell someone I'd known for five years.

And she told me everything.

Apparently, she had started dating at a very young age. She had been involved with older men, some of whom she casually referred to as her sugar daddies. She had been through several relationship scandals, had once sold illegal drugs and, according to her, had even struggled with dagga addiction.

I sat there listening, occasionally nodding, trying to keep my facial expressions under control.

At some point, I genuinely wondered whether she was telling me her life story or auditioning for a documentary.

"Wait, you've actually done all that?" I asked.

She laughed.

"Girl, you have no idea!"

I looked at her for a moment.

I didn't know what surprised me more: the things she was telling me or how comfortably she was telling them.

We had only just met.

She didn't seem embarrassed, uncomfortable or even particularly concerned about how I might perceive her.

I, on the other hand, was still deciding whether I should believe everything coming out of her mouth.

Was she exaggerating? Was she being completely honest? Or was this simply how she introduced herself to people?

I couldn't tell.

But one thing was certain.

Tsholi had lived a life that sounded nothing like mine.

A Little Too Much Information

I had always believed that getting to know someone took time.

Apparently, Tsholi disagreed.

By the time her mother had finished helping her arrange her belongings, I had learnt more about Tsholi than I knew about some people I had spent years around.

Her mother eventually left, reminding her to behave herself, attend her lectures and call if she needed anything.

Tsholi promised she would.

The moment the door closed, she turned towards me.

"So, Zuri, tell me about yourself."

I looked up from my phone.

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything! Your family, your friends, relationships. Are you dating anyone?"

I almost laughed.

We hadn't even known each other for twenty-four hours.

"That's a lot of questions."

"That's how you get to know people!"

I gave her a small smile.

"I'm not really someone who talks about herself."

"Why?"

I shrugged.

"I just don't."

She seemed to accept that answer, although it didn't stop her from talking about herself.

Tsholi had a lot to say about her childhood. She described growing up feeling that she hadn't received the love, attention and care she deserved. According to her, those experiences had shaped the person she had become.

She spoke about dating several men, sometimes having more than one boyfriend, and expecting them to provide financially. She explained that she had learnt to get money from relationships because, in her words, nobody had ever really catered for her.

Then came the stories about older men, sugar daddies, relationship scandals and a past involving illegal drugs and dagga.

I listened.

Occasionally, I asked a question. Sometimes I just stared at her, trying to work out whether she was serious.

"Don't look at me like that!" she exclaimed, laughing.

"I'm not looking at you in any particular way."

"You're judging me."

"I'm actually just listening."

She laughed again.

"Anyway, that's life. You become who you are because of what you've been through."

I nodded slowly.

Perhaps she was right about some things. Childhood experiences could leave marks on a person long after they had grown up.

But I wasn't sure they explained every decision someone made.

I kept that thought to myself.

Tsholi seemed to have decided that I was the complete opposite of her. She spoke as though my life had been uncomplicated, as though growing up in a home with both parents meant growing up without emotional struggles.

She didn't know me.

And judging by how much she had told me about herself, she hadn't realised that I wasn't particularly comfortable being known either.

Still, I found her amusing.

There was something almost fascinating about how easily she spoke. She didn't seem to rehearse her words or worry about how they might sound.

I wondered what it would feel like to live without constantly filtering everything before saying it.

For now, I had a roommate who seemed determined to make sure there would never be a dull moment.

And I was beginning to suspect that silence was going to become a luxury.