Forbidden Love

The right choice

The Wrong Number Text — Episode 4: The Right Choice

The black BMW followed us for 4 blocks.

Lungi didn’t flinch. “Keep walking,” she whispered, fingers tightening around mine. “He wants us scared. Don’t give it to him.”

At the corner of Kruger and Burger, the BMW turned left and disappeared. My shoulders dropped 2 inches.

“Khutso?” I asked.

“Probably,” Lungi said. “He likes control. When he can’t have it, he watches.”

We didn’t talk about it again that night. At 11:47pm she texted: Gogo says your vetkoek need more yeast. But she ate two. So you’re winning.

I was smiling at my phone when the email came in.

Subject: Digital Marketing Intern – Offer

From: BrightStar Agency, Pretoria

Body: Hi Naledi, we loved your portfolio. R15K/month, start Monday. Reply by 6pm tomorrow to accept.

R15K. My hands started shaking. That’s rent, data, gogo’s meds, and real groceries. That’s “no more SASSA queue” money.

That’s 5 hours away from Lungi.

I didn’t sleep. At 8am I was at Lungi’s flat. She opened the door in her work uniform — Spar cashier badge crooked.

“You’re up early,” she said. Then she saw my face. “What happened?”

I showed her the email. She read it twice. Quiet.

“Say something,” I said. “Yell. Tell me not to go. Tell me to go. Something.”

She handed my phone back. “When is it?”

“Monday.”

“Today’s Friday.”

She walked to her tiny kitchen, put on the kettle like we weren’t talking about my life leaving town in 3 days. “Gogo always says, ‘Opportunity is like a taxi. If you don’t get in, it leaves. But if you get in the wrong one, you’re still lost.’”

“So which one is this?” My voice cracked. “Right taxi, wrong timing?”

Lungi poured two cups of rooibos. No sugar — we were both too stressed to care. “Three months ago you texted a wrong number because you were lonely. Now you’ve got a right number and a right job. That’s not bad luck, Nali. That’s God being funny.”

“Long distance doesn’t work,” I said. “My data dies on the 29th every month. Yours too. We’ll go back to missing texts and—”

“Hey.” She cut me off, cupping my face. Her hands smelled like Sunlight soap and vanilla lotion. “11:47pm is not a place, Naledi. It’s a choice. We chose it broke. We chose it with Thabo and Khutso being stupid. We can choose it with 5 hours between us.”

I wanted to believe her. But the BMW flashed in my head. “What if Khutso—”

“Then I call you,” she said. “And you call the police. And we handle it. Like we handled Gogo’s hospital. Like we handled Thabo. Together.”

My phone buzzed. Unknown Joburg number. We both stared at it.

Lungi picked it up and answered on speaker. “Ndo.” Hello.

“Is this Naledi?” Khutso’s voice. Smooth. Expensive.

“No,” Lungi said. “This is the girl you couldn’t control. She’s busy choosing herself. Stop calling.” She hung up and blocked him.

Then she looked at me. “Say yes to the job. And say yes to us. We don’t have to pick one.”

I replied to BrightStar at 11:47am. I accept. See you Monday.

Lungi read over my shoulder and snorted. “Of course you’d choose 11:47.”

Sunday lunch at Gogo’s was chaotic — chicken stew, pap, 3 aunties asking when I’m paying lobola. Gogo winked at me while serving vetkoek. “This one uses enough yeast now.”

At the taxi rank Monday at 5am, Lungi was there. Red beanie in her hand, not on her head. She pushed it into my bag. “So you don’t forget what ‘home’ sounds like.”

The Pretoria taxi hooted. I got in. We didn’t do a dramatic kiss. She just tapped my window as we pulled off and mouthed: 11:47pm.

11:47pm, I was in my new flat in Sunnyside, sitting on the floor because I had no furniture yet.

Lungi: Made it to Pretoria without getting scammed?

Me: Barely. Taxi guy charged me R20 extra for the beanie.

Lungi: Worth it. Gogo says hi. Also, Khutso’s BMW was outside Spar today. I took a pic and sent it to my cousin. The police one. He left.

Me: My girl’s a thug 😭

Lungi: Your girl’s tired. Home safe?

Me: With you? Always. Even from 5 hours away.

Lungi: Good. Because I’m not done proving my magwinya are better.

Me: Monday I’m off. Come judge mine in Pretoria.

Lungi: Book my taxi, Nali. I’ll bring the yeast.