The Rose Between The Worlds

The Window

Day Three.

The plastic didn't work.

I knew it wouldn't.

Yesterday, after Meneer Stuurman gave me the money to fix the window, I called Mama Dineo's son.

He went to Builders for me.

Real glass was too expensive.

Thousands.

The small amount Meneer Stuurman had given me was barely enough for clear plastic and a handful of nails.

So we used what we had.

He nailed the plastic over the broken frame and stepped back.

"It will hold for now, Sisi."

It didn't.

At two in the morning, the wind found it.

Flap.

Flap.

Flap.

Every time it moved, I woke up.

Every time I woke up, Wisdom was coughing.

His little body was hot against mine.

I pulled the blanket tighter around him and whispered prayers into his hair.

By four, I knew I couldn't stay.

I had to go to work.

I dressed quietly while Wisdom slept in Mama Dineo's bed.

When I bent down to kiss him, his eyes opened.

He didn't cry.

He just looked at me.

Then his little fingers caught the edge of my shirt.

"Mama must go, baby," I whispered.

He held on for another second.

Then let go.

Mama Dineo touched my shoulder.

"Go, Sisi. He'll settle."

I nodded and left.

---

At four-thirty, Joseph was waiting downstairs.

"Morning, Palesa."

"Morning, Joseph."

His eyes went to the plastic covering the small window behind me.

"Still holding?"

I shook my head.

"It didn't make it through the night."

He sighed.

"That Sunnyside wind doesn't play."

"I know."

"You need real glass."

"I know."

"But real glass costs."

"I know that too."

He gave me a look.

I forced a small smile.

"I'll figure it out."

---

Floor fifty-eight.

5:15 AM.

I unlocked the office.

The lights were off.

I put my bag down and started working.

Meneer Stuurman's jacket was hanging over the back of his chair.

A wet towel lay on the floor near his office door.

I heard the shower running.

I went to the coffee machine.

Eighty degrees.

Black.

Two sugars.

I placed the cup on his desk.

Then I started cleaning.

A few minutes later, his office door opened.

I turned.

Pieter Stuurman walked out wearing black jogging pants and a black T-shirt.

His blond hair was still wet.

He didn't look at me.

He looked at the coffee.

Picked it up.

Took one sip.

"80."

Then he walked into his office.

That was it.

No good morning.

No thank you.

Nothing.

I went back to work.

---

At seven, the intercom buzzed.

"Palesa."

I straightened.

"Yes, Meneer?"

"In."

I entered his office.

He was dressed now.

Grey suit.

White shirt.

Tie pulled tight.

His face was the same as always.

Cold.

Unreadable.

"Window."

I swallowed.

"The plastic broke during the night, Meneer."

"I see."

"I tried to fix it."

"I see."

"I used the money you gave me."

His eyes lifted to mine.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

He understood.

Small money.

Plastic.

A temporary solution.

"Of course," he said quietly. "Plastic."

I lowered my eyes.

He opened a drawer.

Inside was a white business card.

He looked at it.

Didn't hand it to me.

"Kobus."

I looked up.

"He worked for my father. He does proper glasswork."

He placed the card back inside the drawer.

"I'll call him."

"Meneer, you already gave me—"

"I gave you small money."

His voice remained flat.

"I see now that small money doesn't fix a window."

I said nothing.

He picked up his coffee.

"I don't argue before coffee."

I nodded.

"Go back to work."

"Yes, Meneer."

I turned to leave.

"Palesa."

I stopped.

"Yes?"

"Don't worry about it."

I looked at him.

His eyes were already on his laptop.

"Go."

I left.

---

At nine-fifteen, his office door was closed.

I could hear him speaking on the phone.

His voice was low.

Then came the Afrikaans.

"Ja, Kobus. Dis Pieter."

A pause.

"Luister. Ek het 'n job vir jou."

Another pause.

"Sunnyside. Klein venstertjie."

I stopped typing.

"Dis dringend. Môre nege-uur."

He listened.

"Nee. Moenie geld vra nie. Stuur die rekening vir my."

Then he hung up.

I stared at my computer.

Ten minutes later, the intercom buzzed.

"Palesa."

"Yes, Meneer?"

"Kobus comes tomorrow. Nine o'clock."

I stood.

"He'll put in real glass."

I didn't know what to say.

"You'll be at work."

"Yes, Meneer."

"Who will be at home?"

"Mama Dineo."

He nodded once.

"Goed."

I waited.

"Plastic is not a window."

His eyes returned to his laptop.

"Tomorrow it will be real glass. Then you can work properly."

I nodded.

"Yes, Meneer."

"I need you focused."

He finally looked at me.

"Not worrying about a broken window."

"Yes, Meneer."

"Good."

The conversation was over.

I walked out.

---

At three, I brought him another coffee.

Exactly eighty degrees.

He took the cup.

"My father used to say something."

I waited.

"A house with a broken window is not a house."

He took a sip.

"So tomorrow it will be fixed."

"Yes, Meneer."

He nodded once.

Then went back to his work.

I returned to my desk.

For the rest of the afternoon, I tried not to think about it.

But I couldn't.

Meneer Stuurman had given me money.

It hadn't been enough.

I had used it anyway.

And now he was paying for the proper repair himself.

I didn't understand him.

I wasn't sure I wanted to.

---

At six, I was packing my things when Joseph appeared beside my desk.

"Go home."

I looked at him.

"I still have emails—"

"He said no overtime."

I stopped.

"He did?"

Joseph nodded.

"Go."

I packed my bag.

As I passed Pieter's office, I heard his voice.

"Joseph."

I slowed down.

"Did Kobus confirm nine?"

"Yes, Mr. Stuurman."

A pause.

"Goed."

Another pause.

"Tell him to be careful with the place."

"Yes, Mr. Stuurman

I kept walking.

I didn't look back.

---

Sunnyside was colder than it had been that morning.

The plastic on the window was still moving.

Flap.

Flap.

Flap.

Mama Dineo opened the door before I knocked.

"He woke three times."

My stomach dropped.

"How is he?"

"Hot."

I rushed inside.

Wisdom was lying on the mattress, his cheeks red and his nose running.

The moment he saw me, he pushed himself upright.

"Mama!"

I dropped my bag.

I picked him up.

His little body melted against my chest.

He was burning.

He coughed into my shoulder.

I closed my eyes.

My fingers brushed over the little rose tattoo on my wrist as I held him tighter.

"I'm here, baby."

He didn't answer.

He just held on.

That night, I didn't sleep.

I sat with him against my chest until morning.

And every few minutes—

Flap.

Flap.

Flap.

I looked at the broken window.

Tomorrow, it would be real glass.

Because of a man who barely looked at me.

A man who spoke to me like every word cost him something.

A man I couldn't read.

I pulled Wisdom closer.

For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about the words he'd said.

Plastic is not a window.

I didn't know why he'd bothered.

And I didn't know why that bothered me.