Shadows over the Gala
816 Words
The morning sun spilled through the cracked window of the clinic’s modest office, painting golden stripes across the faded walls. Tinashe sat behind her cluttered desk, absently tracing the rim of her coffee mug as the previous night’s gala still hummed in her mind. The warm Afrojazz melodies, the glint of fairy lights, and Ken’s intense gaze—all mingled with a knot of unease she couldn’t quite unravel.
Her phone buzzed sharply against the wooden surface. A message from Musa, terse and urgent:
“We need to talk. Now.”
Tinashe’s thumb hovered over the screen before she typed back, careful not to betray her own rising tension. “Where?”
---
The café was bustling with the usual mid-morning rush, the scent of fresh coffee and frying mandazi thick in the air. Musa was already there, sitting in a shadowed corner, his posture taut, eyes restless.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said the moment she slid into the seat opposite him, voice low and serious.
Tinashe arched a brow, folding her arms. “Since when do you care about my games, Musa?”
“Since you started slipping away,” he said, jaw tight. “Ken isn’t just some charming Lagos boy. He has layers you haven’t seen yet.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not a child, Musa. I’m not some prize to be won or protected.”
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a warning. “Can you handle what’s coming? Because I just got a call from someone digging around the fundraiser’s donors. There are rumors—large sums missing, unaccounted for. People are whispering, and some fingers are pointing at Ken.”
Tinashe’s heart lurched. “That can’t be true. He’s been nothing but professional.”
“Maybe. But it’s enough to cause trouble, and I don’t want you caught in the crossfire.”
She sat back, the weight of his words sinking in. “Then we find out what’s really going on. Together.”
Musa’s eyes flickered with reluctant respect. “You’re stubborn. Fine. But tread carefully.”
---
Back at the clinic, the sterile smell of antiseptic and the low murmur of patients in the waiting room greeted her. Ken was there, hunched over a stack of patient files, his usual easy grin absent. The sharp lines of worry around his eyes deepened as she approached.
“Ken, we need to talk,” Tinashe said, steady despite the turmoil inside.
He looked up, eyes darkening but still calm. “About?”
“The fundraiser. Musa mentioned missing money. Donors being questioned. People suspect you.”
Ken’s laugh was short and bitter. “I’ve heard the rumors. It’s politics, Tinashe. They don’t like me here—too many assumptions, too much jealousy.”
“Do you have anything to hide?” Her voice was soft but firm.
His gaze flickered, just for a moment, and then he shook his head. “Nothing that would endanger you.”
She searched his face, sensing the walls he’d built, the secrets carefully buried.
“Promise me,” he said quietly, “if this goes deeper, you’ll be careful.”
Before she could respond, her phone buzzed again. An unknown number.
“Watch your back. Not everyone here is who they seem.”
A chill ran down her spine.
---
That evening, the clinic was quiet, the last patients gone and the cleaning crew wrapping up. Musa appeared unexpectedly, leaning casually against the doorway. His usual charm was replaced by a serious edge.
“Tinashe, I’m worried,” he said quietly. “This isn’t just about missing money. There are bigger players—people who will hurt us if we don’t act fast.”
She met his steady gaze, heart pounding. “What do we do?”
“We take control,” Musa said. “But you need to trust me.”
Tinashe hesitated, torn between the fierce loyalty Musa offered and the complicated, guarded Ken who’d stepped into her life like a storm.
“Can I?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Musa reached out, briefly covering her hand. “You don’t have to decide now. But I’ll be here.”
---
Later, lying awake in her apartment, Tinashe’s mind spun through the day’s revelations. The text warning, Musa’s fierce protectiveness, Ken’s secrets—all swirling together in a confusing dance of desire and danger.
Her thoughts drifted back to the gala, to the moment Ken’s lips had almost met hers beneath the fairy lights. That intoxicating closeness. The promise of something reckless and real.
And yet, the mystery shadowing the fundraiser threatened to pull her under.
She closed her eyes, her breath slow and steady, but sleep refused to come. The chase was far from over, and Harare’s glittering nights hid more than just celebration—they hid shadows that could shatter everything.
- Writer
