uGULUVA Chapter 15

Phindile has everything ready. All that remains are the final touch-ups on her braids, her fingers smoothing down flyaways as she secures them into a neat high bun. She leans closer to the mirror, studying her reflection—checking, fixing, convincing herself.

“This is it, Phindile,” she whispers.

The time reads 06:15 when her phone vibrates softly on the table.

“MK is on his way. Be ready.”

Ncanezwe’s message makes her inhale sharply. She stares at the screen longer than necessary, her chest tightening for reasons she refuses to name. Why is she nervous? This is just pretending. An arrangement. Nothing more.

“Okay,” she types back, forcing calm into the single word.

She places the phone down, then slowly kneels beside the bed. Her palms press together as she bows her head, closing her eyes. Prayer always helps. If nothing else, it quiets the shaking inside her chest. And right now, she needs that peace more than ever.

“Baba, Nkulunkulu onamandla, namanje ngizakuwe. Ngibonga ukuvuka Nkosi yeZulu. Ngicela amandla avela ekhaya ezulwini, bese uyangithwala Nkosi. Kukho konke okusayo kwenzeka, ngihambele phambili, bese ungipha amandla kuze kube phakade. Amen.”

(Father, Almighty God, today I come to You again. I thank You for waking me up, Lord of Heaven. I ask for strength that comes from heaven, that You may carry me, Lord. In everything that is about to happen, let me move forward, and grant me strength forever. Amen.)

She exhales deeply after the prayer.

This is a completely new chapter for her, and she is determined—with everything in her—not to mess it up.

.

.

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It’s 06:45 when MK hoots outside, and I let out a slow sigh. Everything is ready. Rehearsed. I’m nervous—but it’s time.

I take one last glance at my reflection in the mirror before stepping out, rolling my suitcase behind me. I lock the house and walk toward the car just as MK steps out, adjusting his sunglasses. I sigh again when I reach him.

“Good morning, Madam,” he says.

Madam? Wow.

“Good morning, MK. Please stick to Phindile,” I say.

He nods, takes my suitcase, and opens the car door for me. Before I even get in, a familiar scent surrounds me. He’s already here?

“Morning, MaP,” he says the moment I settle into the car.

I turn to him. Ncanezwe Cele. Seated in the backseat next to me. Calm. Collected. Completely ready.

“Good morning, Sir,” I reply.

His eyes hold mine for a second longer than necessary—measuring, assessing, as if this isn’t just a trip but a test. Then he looks away, tapping once on his phone.

“Let’s go,” Ncanezwe says calmly.

MK closes the door and walks around the car. The engine hums to life, smooth and controlled, just like the man sitting behind me. As we pull away from my place, I grip my handbag tighter on my lap, reminding myself to breathe. This is it.

No turning back.

The streets are still quiet, Soweto barely awake. The sky is a soft grey-blue, the kind that feels heavy with unspoken things. I stare out the window, watching houses blur past, grounding myself in the movement.

“You slept well?” Ncanezwe asks.

“Yes, Sir,” I answer immediately.

He clicks his tongue softly. “Drop the ‘Sir’ when it’s just us. You’re not my employee this weekend.”

I swallow. “Yes—okay.”

A pause.

“You’re nervous,” he states, not asking.

I hesitate, then nod. “A little.”

His gaze returns to me, sharp but not unkind. “Good. Nervous people pay attention. Careless people embarrass me.”

My stomach tightens. “I won’t.”

“I know.” Another pause. “Tell me—what am I to you when someone asks?”

I don’t hesitate. “Your partner. Phindile Gwala. A marketing consultant. We’ve been together for just over a year. We met through at an event. You’re private. Protective.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Barely there—but it’s enough to send a strange flutter through my chest.

“And how do I treat you?” he asks.

“With respect,” I say. “Firm, but attentive. You don’t like public affection, but you don’t let anyone disrespect me.”

“Good,” he says. “And you?”

“I support you. I don’t interfere in your business. I listen more than I talk.”

He nods once. Approval.

MK clears his throat softly from the front.

“We’ll stop for coffee in ten minutes.”

Ncanezwe doesn’t look away from me. “She takes it black. No sugar.”

I blink. I never told him that.

“Yes,” I say quietly.

The car continues forward, the silence settling again—thick, deliberate. But this time, it feels different. Like I’ve crossed an invisible line. And there’s no stepping back now.

We stopped for coffee, and now we’re back on the road, heading somewhere I don’t know. The stretch of tar ahead of us feels endless—quiet, unfamiliar. I’m still nervous, but it’s the kind that settles in my chest without hurting. I trust the man beside me, even if I don’t fully understand him yet.

I sigh and pull out my phone, slipping my earphones in. Amazulu by Amanda Black fills my ears, her voice soft, grounding. I lean back against the seat and close my eyes, letting the music carry me, forcing my thoughts to slow.

Thirty-five minutes later, the car begins to slow.

The music fades as I open my eyes. My brows knit together when I notice the change in scenery—tall fences, harsh lights, signs that demand attention whether I want to give it or not.

An airport. My breath catches as he parks. I stare out the window, my heart racing now, disbelief washing over me.

“An airport?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, shock written all over my face.

This… I didn’t see it coming.

*

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