The Rose Between The Worlds

Come Back Tomorrow

“Your son?”

Pieter’s question stopped me cold.

“Yes.”

I was already pushing my phone into my bag, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“I’m sorry, Meneer Stuurman. I have to go. He’s sick.”

“How sick?”

I looked at him.

Why was he asking?

Bosses like him didn’t ask questions like that.

“He has a cough,” I said quietly. “He gets it when it rains. Our window…”

I stopped myself.

I was saying too much.

His eyes moved over me.

My cheap dress.

My worn-out bag.

Then his gaze dropped to my wrist.

The rose.

“That tattoo,” he said quietly. “Where did you get it?”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“When I was nineteen.”

“Where?”

“In Pretoria. A small shop.”

He frowned.

Like my answer didn’t make sense.

“I’ve seen it before.”

I couldn't breathe.

No.

No, you haven't.

You saw it in the dark.

Room 2411.

My wrist beneath your hand. Your voice telling me it was beautiful.

Please don't remember.

Please.

My phone rang again.

MAMA DINEO.

I answered with one hand, gripping my bag with the other.

“I’m coming now, Mama Dineo. I’m on my way.”

“Palesa, he’s hot!” she cried. “You must come!”

“I’m coming.”

I ended the call and looked back at Pieter.

“I’m really sorry. I need to go.”

For a moment, I thought he would say no.

That he would tell me I was being unprofessional.

That people like me didn't get to have sick children and important interviews on the same day.

But he didn’t.

He walked back to his desk and pressed a button.

“Miriam, cancel my ten o’clock.”

Then he looked at me.

“Go.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“Go to your son.”

I stared at him.

“But the interview—”

“Is paused.”

He picked up my CV again.

“Not finished.”

His eyes moved over the page.

“You live in Sunnyside. You take two taxis. You have a two-year-old son who is sick right now, and you still came here.”

His eyes lifted to mine.

“You even ironed that dress.”

He said it like he was surprised.

“Most girls who come here cry because I ask them to make coffee.”

He paused.

“You didn't cry.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Come back tomorrow.”

I swallowed.

“Six AM.”

My eyes widened.

“Not nine. Six.”

He looked at my dress.

“And wear something you can work in.”

He paused again.

“Black. Simple.”

Then he glanced at my bag.

“And bring a proper bag.”

I looked down at my Shoprite bag.

“Not plastic.”

My fingers tightened around the handles.

“Does that mean…?”

“It means you have a one-week trial.”

His voice became firm again.

“You’re late once, you’re gone.”

I nodded quickly.

“You bring your phone calls into my office again, you’re gone.”

“Yes.”

“And you cry on my floor like Anika…”

He leaned back.

“You’re gone.”

I nodded.

“Understood?”

“Yes.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, what?”

My throat tightened.

“Yes, Meneer… Pieter.”

He nodded once.

“Now go.”

Then, almost as an afterthought—

“Before I change my mind.”

I didn't walk.

I ran.

Down fifty-eight floors.

Through the freezing lobby.

Past the receptionist, who looked genuinely shocked that I was still alive.

The moment I stepped outside, Sandton hit me all at once.

Too bright.

Too hot.

Too rich.

I took two taxis back to Pretoria.

R85.

Again.

Money I didn't have.

The entire journey, my leg wouldn't stop shaking.

Pieter Stuurman remembered my tattoo.

But he didn't remember me.

Or did he?

---

Mama Dineo was waiting outside our room with Wisdom on her hip.

His little face was red.

His nose was running.

But the moment he saw me, he smiled.

“Mama!”

I rushed to him.

He was hot.

Burning.

I pressed my lips against his forehead.

“Wisdom, my baby.”

His tiny hands came up to my cheeks.

“You came back.”

“Of course I came back.”

He coughed.

A small, dry cough.

Mama Dineo folded her arms.

“So?”

I looked at her.

“How was it? Did you get it?”

I looked down at Wisdom.

At his flushed little face.

Then at those grey eyes.

The exact same grey eyes that had stared at me from behind a five-hundred-thousand-rand desk.

“I got a trial.”

Mama Dineo's face changed.

“One week.”

I nodded.

“Six AM tomorrow.”

She stared at me.

“In Sandton.”

She whistled.

“Six AM? That child will still be sleeping.”

“I know.”

“And you will wear that dress again?”

I looked down at my graduation dress.

Sweaty.

Creased from the taxis.

“No.”

I carried Wisdom inside.

Behind our curtain-room, I sat on the bed with him sleeping against my chest.

For the first time all day, I allowed myself to breathe.

Then my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I stared at it for a second before answering.

“Hello?”

“Is this Palesa Molefe?”

“Yes?”

“This is Stuurman Group. Mr. Stuurman’s office.”

I sat up straighter.

“A car will pick you up tomorrow at 4:30 AM from Sunnyside.”

My eyes widened.

“Be ready outside. The driver's name is Joseph.”

“Okay.”

“And Palesa…”

“Yes?”

There was a brief pause.

“Mr. Stuurman said to tell you…”

My heart began beating faster.

“Leave the baby lotion at home.”

The call ended.

I stared at my phone.

A car.

He was sending a car.

To Sunnyside.

For me.

Wisdom stirred against my chest.

“Mama…”

I looked down at him.

“Is tomorrow cake?”

I held him tighter.

“No, my baby.”

I looked toward the darkness beyond our curtain.

“Tomorrow is Sandton.”