Learning to stay
793 Words
Thandi had always believed that love was something that started and ended between two people. But that belief changed the day she met Collen’s family.
It was a sunny Sunday afternoon in July when he took her to his parents’ house in Pretoria. She wore a beige knit dress and too much perfume—nervous habits. Her palms were damp before they even reached the driveway.
“You don’t have to be anyone but you,” Collen said, squeezing her hand.
“I’m always me,” she said with a nervous laugh. “That’s the problem.”
But her nerves melted the moment his mother hugged her. Not a quick, polite hug, but a real one—the kind that said you’re safe here.
“Collen talks about you like you’re his favorite song,” his mother said with a warm smile.
Thandi nearly teared up. No one had ever talked about her like that before.
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Lunch was loud and full of love. Laughter echoed through the house, plates clinked, uncles cracked jokes, and cousins debated over old family memories. Collen sat beside her the entire time, his presence calm, protective—solid. His father asked thoughtful questions about her job. His sister complimented her hair and offered her more juice. For the first time in a long time, Thandi didn’t feel like she was trying too hard to be liked.
She was just… herself. And it was enough.
Every time she caught Collen looking at her—with that gentle, proud smile—she felt something shift inside her. A quiet voice whispered, Maybe this is what it’s like when love feels safe.
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A week later, she invited Collen to meet her mother.
She stood in her kitchen that morning, heart racing. Her mother wasn’t harsh, but she was careful—slow to trust, especially when it came to her daughter. Thandi was her only child. Her only everything.
But Collen had a way of easing tension without even trying. He complimented the cooking, offered to help set the table, and spoke about his upbringing with warmth. When he asked about Thandi’s late father, her mother looked up from her tea and said, “You’re not like the others, are you?”
Collen smiled, not proudly, but humbly. “No, ma’am. I’m not.”
And for the first time, Thandi saw her mother soften—really soften.
That night, after he left, her mom said quietly, “He makes you glow, Thandi. Don’t push him away.”
She didn’t respond out loud, but something inside her did.
For the first time in years, Thandi didn’t feel like she was waiting for something to go wrong.
She was starting to believe it might actually go right.
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That night, Thandi sat curled up on her couch, her phone buzzing beside her with a sweet goodnight text from Collen. But she didn’t open it right away.
She was still holding her mother’s words in her heart.
“He makes you glow.”
No one had ever said that to her before.
She walked to the bathroom mirror and looked at her reflection. She didn’t look different. Same dark eyes, same full lips, same skeptical stare. But something under her skin had softened. She could feel it. Her smile wasn’t guarded—it wasn’t waiting for disappointment anymore.
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Over the next few weeks, things unfolded gently, like petals opening in spring.
Collen brought her flowers—not roses, but wild ones, “because they remind me of you. Beautiful, but untamed.”
He helped her rearrange her living room one Saturday, claiming her couch faced the “wrong direction for good thinking.” They argued playfully over it, but by the end of the day, it felt like their space—not just hers.
He introduced her to his niece, Naledi, a bubbly five-year-old who took to Thandi instantly. They baked cupcakes and painted together, and for a fleeting second, Thandi caught a vision of what life could be like—with laughter in the kitchen, small feet running across the floor, love growing in ordinary places.
And for once, she didn’t pull away from the thought.
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One Sunday, after church, Collen reached for her hand and held it openly in front of everyone. It was a small act, but to Thandi, it felt monumental. She’d never had that before—someone proud to choose her in public, without games or hesitations.
She squeezed his hand back, and he smiled without saying a word.
It was peace. It was safety. It was… new.
She still had questions. Still had fear tucked somewhere inside her. But she also had something she hadn’t felt in years.
Hope.
And it was starting to bloom.
- Writer
