unloved before you

Thandi Morake had mastered the art of pretending. To the world, she was composed, capable, the kind of woman who always had her nails done and her smile ready. But beneath the surface—where no one was allowed to look—she was tired. Not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep could fix, but the kind that came from being broken in ways words couldn’t explain. At twenty-six, Thandi had learned that love was a language she could read but never speak fluently. Her relationships were short stories, not novels. Some ended in silence, others in screaming. All of them left her with less of herself than she started with. She remembered her first love—how he made her believe the world would bend for them. He lied. Her second love made her question her worth. Her third made her forget she had any. Since then, she had kept her heart locked behind sarcasm and side-eyes. She flirted, sometimes even dated, but the moment anyone got too close, she pulled away. Not because she wanted to—but because she didn’t trust her own judgment anymore. She didn’t trust men. She didn’t trust herself. Her friends said she was picky. Her mother said she was closed off. But Thandi knew the truth: she was scared. Not of being alone—but of being hurt again and having no one to blame but herself. She stood in her small apartment now, staring at the fading photo stuck to her fridge. A picture of her and Lelo, her best friend since varsity. Both laughing. Both happy. A reminder that some people stayed. She sighed, reaching for the kettle. Rain began tapping against the windows, soft and steady. “Maybe I’m just not meant for love,” she whispered to no one. And maybe, just maybe, someone would come along to prove her wrong.