{"id":61,"date":"2026-01-21T14:31:46","date_gmt":"2026-01-21T14:31:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/?p=61"},"modified":"2026-01-21T14:31:46","modified_gmt":"2026-01-21T14:31:46","slug":"uguluva-chapter-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/uguluva-chapter-2\/","title":{"rendered":"uGULUVA Chapter 2"},"content":{"rendered":"
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CHAPTER 2.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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NCANEZWE CELE.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I lean back into the chair again, the leather creaking beneath my weight letting it spin slowly, the ceiling blurring above me.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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“Ngiyaxolisa.”<\/div>\n
Her voice won\u2019t leave my head. Soft. Careful. Like she was afraid of breaking something fragile between us. The warmth of her wrist under my fingers, the faint cologne clinging to her skin\u2014clean, unfamiliar, dangerous.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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“Focus, Ncanezwe.” My mind says.<\/div>\n
“You don\u2019t hesitate. You don\u2019t feel.” It continues.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cThe shipment will arrive on Wednesday.\u201d<\/div>\n
MK\u2019s voice cuts through the noise in my head. I nod, even though my mind is still somewhere else – somewhere I shouldn\u2019t be.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cBhoza? Uyangizwa?\u201d he asks.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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My fingers tighten around the armrest as I stop the chair and lift my gaze to him. MK stands across the desk, arms folded, his stance relaxed but alert. He\u2019s been with me long enough to read the silence. He knows when my thoughts drift too far.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cNgiyakuzwa,\u201d I say finally, my voice flat, controlled. \u201cWednesday.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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He exhales softly, tension easing from his shoulders, but his eyes stay on me a second longer than necessary.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cThe route is clean,\u201d he continues. \u201cNo tails. No leaks.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I nod once more.<\/div>\n
\u201cDouble the security,\u201d I say. \u201cInside and outside. I don\u2019t want surprises.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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MK tilts his head. \u201cAnd if someone makes a mistake?\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cIf anyone breathes wrong\u2014\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cThey disappear,\u201d he finishes.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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A thin smile curves my lips, not because of amusement but because of confirmation.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cYes,\u201d I say quietly. \u201cJust like that.\u201d<\/div>\n
Silence stretches between us. The kind that carries weight.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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*<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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PHINDILE GWALA.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I am so happy that I found a job, and even though my bank balance is still laughing at me, I decide to celebrate anyway. I don\u2019t need a restaurant or fancy drinks. Right now, a little ice cream date with myself feels more than enough. I earned this.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cThank you,\u201d I say softly to the cashier over the counter at Milky Lane as they hand me my ice cream.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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The cup feels cold against my palm, grounding me. For a moment, I just stand there, staring at it like it might disappear if I blink too hard. I walk away from the counter and take a seat on one of the plastic chairs by the window. The mall hums around me\u2014people talking, shoes squeaking against the floor, laughter drifting from somewhere behind me.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I scoop my first bite and let it melt on my tongue. Sweet. Comforting. Familiar. As I eat, I scroll through TikTok, my thumb moving automatically while my mind wanders. People are dancing, flexing soft lives, showing off groceries and cars and apartments with too much light.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Normally, that kind of content makes my chest tight, but today it doesn\u2019t. Today, I smile. I got the job.<\/div>\n
My shoulders relax as I take another bite. I think about how many mornings I woke up not knowing where things were going, how many \u201cwe\u2019ll get back to you\u201d emails I pretended not to care about.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Sitting here now, with sticky fingers and cheap ice cream, feels like proof that things can change\u2014even slowly, even quietly. I lean back in the chair, watching people pass by, and for the first time in a long while, I don\u2019t feel rushed or heavy. Just full. Not just from the ice cream, but from hope.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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My phone vibrates in my hand just as I lift another spoonful to my mouth. I barely pay attention at first, thinking it\u2019s another random notification, until I see the name on my screen.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Nobantu. My smile falters slightly. I swipe open the message, my heart already bracing itself before I even read the words.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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“Ma\u2019s pills are running out and also I am pregnant for God\u2019s sake, ngiyethemba uwutholile loyo msebenzi!”<\/div>\n
(I hope you got a job!)<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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The spoon pauses halfway to my lips. Pregnant. The word hits me first, heavy and sharp, followed immediately by the familiar ache in my chest at the mention of Ma\u2019s pills. My eyes sting as I reread the message, slower this time, as if the words might change if I look hard enough. I exhale and set the ice cream down on the table. Suddenly, it doesn\u2019t taste as sweet anymore.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I glance around the mall, at people laughing, shopping, living as if the world isn\u2019t constantly asking them for more than they have. My thumb hovers over the screen. I want to tell her everything will be fine. I want to promise money I don\u2019t have yet, stability I\u2019m still chasing. But this time, it\u2019s different. I straighten my back and type.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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“Ngiwutholile,” I reply. “Ngizoqala soon. Sizolunga, Bantu. Ngiyakuthembisa.”<\/div>\n
(I found a job, I am starting soon. We will be okay Bantu, I promise.)<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I stare at the message after sending it, letting the weight of it settle. Fear is still there\u2014quiet, patient\u2014but for the first time, hope stands taller than it. I pick up my ice cream again, even though it\u2019s starting to melt, and take a bite. This time, it tastes like resolve.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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*<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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100+ comments. \"\ud83d\udc8b\"<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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