moments like this
755 Words
anyone had told Thandi that April 11 would change her life, she would have rolled her eyes and gone back to sipping her coffee. But that morning, something in the air felt… lighter. Maybe it was the sun, or the playlist she’d shuffled without overthinking. Or maybe it was fate, quietly preparing its surprise.
She was late. Of course, she was. The bookstore café on Fox Street was already buzzing when she arrived for her weekly escape—an hour with her journal, a chai latte, and the fantasy of a quieter life.
He was sitting at her usual table.
Tall. Clean-cut. A faded grey hoodie pulled slightly over his forehead, sleeves rolled to his elbows, one hand resting around a half-full cup of tea. He looked comfortable—like he belonged.
Thandi hesitated, just for a moment. Then, without thinking, she approached. “You’re sitting in my seat.”
He looked up—and smiled.
It wasn’t the kind of smile that tried too hard. It was soft. Genuine. The kind that reached his eyes.
“Well,” he said, scooting his things, “how about we share it?”
She should’ve said no. She never shared space with strangers. But something about him made her pause. Made her stay.
That’s how it started.
---
His name was Collen. Collen Diale. A photographer with a quiet laugh and a patient spirit. The kind of man who remembered small things—how she liked her coffee with oat milk, how she tapped her foot when she was deep in thought, how she only watched the rain when she was sad.
Their first real conversation lasted three hours.
After that, they kept meeting—first by accident, then by intention. Walks turned into dinners. Conversations turned into confessions. Every time Thandi tried to keep her walls up, Collen gently reminded her she didn’t have to.
He didn’t rush her.
He didn’t push.
He just stayed.
---
There was a night in late May when he took her to the rooftop of his apartment to watch the stars.
“I don’t believe in perfect people,” she said softly, leaning against him. “But you make me want to believe in perfect moments.”
He kissed her forehead. “We don’t need perfect. Just honest.”
And for the first time in years, she believed that maybe—just maybe—love didn’t always come to hurt her.
Maybe this time, it had come to heal.
---
They fell into rhythm without realizing it.
Every Thursday, they’d meet at the same bookstore café. Sometimes they read. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they just sat in silence—and somehow, that was enough. With Collen, silence didn’t feel empty. It felt full of meaning.
One Saturday, he showed up outside her apartment with paint-stained jeans and two cups of coffee.
“You said you’ve been meaning to redo your bedroom wall,” he said, holding up a can of pale sage green. “Let’s make it a date.”
They spent the day painting, laughing as they accidentally streaked color across each other’s arms and cheeks. By afternoon, they were sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, sipping juice and staring at their work.
“It’s not perfect,” Thandi said.
He looked at her, not the wall. “I like it anyway.”
And just like that, she felt seen.
---
Their joy wasn’t loud. It didn’t come in grand gestures or over-the-top surprises. It came in little things.
Him warming her hands in his pockets on cold mornings.
Her surprising him with banana muffins when he had long editing nights.
Random texts like, "I saw someone today who laughed like you."
Or, "Don’t forget you’re magic."
---
One evening in early June, they danced in her living room with no music playing. She’d had a bad day at work—clients cancelling, emails piling up—and by the time she got home, she felt the old heaviness creeping in.
Collen didn’t ask what was wrong.
He just pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her, and began to sway.
“Do you hear that?” he whispered.
She blinked. “Hear what?”
“The sound of things getting better.”
Thandi buried her face in his chest and smiled. A small, fragile smile—but it was real.
In that moment, it didn’t matter how many people had left before him. Collen was here. And for the first time, she wasn’t waiting for the goodbye.
- Writer
