Chapter 3: The Sound That Broke Me
I woke up to the scent of something warm—eggs sizzling, faint spices in the air, and the soft hum of an old radio playing something jazzy and low. For a moment, I thought I was back in the life I never had. One where mornings were gentle and homes were quiet.
But then I opened my eyes—and remembered.
The cabin. The forest. Naledi.
She stood over the stove with her back to me, wearing her hoodie again, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was tied back today, and her body swayed slightly to the rhythm of the music. Her calm filled the entire room.
I sat up slowly, the mattress creaking beneath me. She turned at the sound.
"Morning," she said with a soft smile. "You slept deep."
"I did." I rubbed my eyes. "It feels strange."
"What, sleeping?"
"No. Feeling... safe."
Her smile faded just slightly. "It shouldn't be a rare feeling."
I stood and walked over slowly. "Do you need help?"
She handed me a spoon. "Stir the eggs. I'll slice the bread."
My hands shook a little as I took the spoon. Simple things like cooking shouldn't make my heart race, but they did. The smell, the heat, the closeness—it reminded me of things I wanted to forget.
Naledi didn't say anything. She just worked beside me in silence, like she understood that my panic wasn't about the eggs.
Then, it happened.
A loud cracking sound echoed through the woods—like a branch snapping under something heavy. My body froze. The spoon clattered to the floor. My breath caught in my throat.
"No," I whispered. "No no no—"
I stumbled back, knocking into the table, panic exploding inside me like fire. My knees hit the floor as I covered my ears.
"They're coming," I said. "I can hear them. They always come when I feel safe—"
"Zukhanyi." Naledi was beside me in a second. "There's no one. It was probably a buck or a tree limb. Listen to me, please."
I couldn't. The sound was still ringing in my head. My chest felt like it was caving in.
She didn't touch me—but knelt in front of me and whispered firmly, "Breathe. In. Out. Right now."
I shook my head. "I can't."
"You can." Her voice was stronger now, but not harsh. "With me. In... out..."
She breathed slowly and exaggerated it for me to follow. Her calm began to pull me in. My breath caught, stuttered, then slowly matched hers. In. Out. In. Out.
The shaking slowed.
Tears slipped down my cheeks, but I was breathing again.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I ruined your morning."
"No," she said. "You had a flashback. That's not the same as ruining anything."
She sat down cross-legged beside me, letting silence fall between us again. It was a different silence—companionable, healing.
"I used to think I was broken," I murmured.
"Maybe you are," she said. "But broken doesn't mean worthless. It means you've survived something that should've destroyed you."
I stared at her, my heart aching. "How do you know all this?"
She hesitated, then said, "Because I've been there. Different nightmare. Same darkness."
Our eyes met for a long moment.
That's when I felt it. That tiny flicker in my chest. A small warmth, like a candle struggling to stay lit in the wind.
It was the way she looked at me. Not like I was fragile. Not like I was a burden. But like I was human. Whole, even in pieces.
Later that afternoon, I sat outside on the wooden steps, watching the wind play with the trees. The earlier panic had left me drained, but also aware—of my breath, my body, my thoughts.
Naledi joined me, two mugs in her hands. She handed me one and sat beside me without a word.
"Is this tea again?" I asked, managing a weak smile.
She grinned. "It's tea with too much sugar, because I know you like things sweeter than you admit."
I blinked. "How would you know that?"
"You made a face when you drank it plain yesterday," she said. "I noticed."
That made me laugh—soft and honest.
We drank in silence.
"I didn't mean to scare you this morning," I said finally.
"You didn't scare me," she replied. "You reminded me."
"Of what?"
"That healing isn't linear. And love…" She stopped herself.
"Love?"
She looked away. "I mean... comfort. It's not easy to accept when you've never had it."
I stared down at my mug. "You can say 'love.' I'm not scared of the word. Just what it brings."
"What has it brought for you?" she asked gently.
"Pain. Lies. Control." I looked out toward the trees. "Every time someone said they loved me, they did something to hurt me right after."
Naledi's voice was quiet. "That wasn't love, Zukhanyi. That was possession."
I nodded slowly.
Then I turned to her. "What about you? Have you ever been in love?"
She paused. "Once. A long time ago. It ended in silence."
"Why?"
"She couldn't love someone like me out loud." Naledi's smile was sad. "Her world didn't allow it."
I reached out and placed my hand over hers. "Her loss."
She looked at me—really looked at me. Like she was seeing me for the first time, not as a broken thing, but as a person standing in the ruins, still breathing.
Neither of us said anything else.
But in that shared silence, I knew something had changed.
Something small.
Something sacred.
Something real.