It had been twelve days since Nyasha was discharged from M&M Private Hospital and returned to her normal routine in Gweru. Her leg wasn't totally healed yet and she still used clutches to walk but it was better. Life had resumed with its usual pace—back to the pharmacy, her tutoring sessions, and the quiet solitude of her small rented house.
Her father had gone in for the long-awaited procedure just three days after her release, and by God's grace, it had been a success. He was now recovering steadily at a private facility in Harare, far from the stress of home, under the watchful eyes of trained specialists. Nyasha had visited him once and planned another trip soon. She smiled when she thought of how his voice sounded stronger over the phone, how he'd joked with her again.
And yet… something felt off. There was a space in her life now—subtle but undeniable.
She moved through her routine like clockwork—dispensing medicine, answering patient queries, logging stock—but often found her gaze drifting to the door when it creaked open. Every jingle of the bell made her heart lift slightly before reason yanked it back down. She shook it off every time.
What exactly was she expecting? Takudzwa had left without a word beyond that dry note. He'd done his part, vanished like a storm that briefly raged then disappeared. And she… she wasn't supposed to miss him.
But she did.
Not in the foolish, romantic way her friends might expect. It wasn't about butterflies or grand gestures. It was the conversations. The stolen glances. The unspoken connection formed in the dim light of a hospital ward.
Now, it was quiet again. Predictable. And painfully... dull.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as a white SUV slowed down outside. Her eyes flicked up, hope betraying her again.
It wasn't him.
She turned back to the shelf, sighing softly, as the day stretched ahead—filled with prescriptions, quiet prayers, and the ghost of a man who wasn't coming back.
***
When Takudzwa left the hospital, it wasn't out of spite or disinterest. A crisis had flared up in one of his most lucrative investments—a cross-border LP gas distribution partnership between Zimbabwe, Botswana, and South Africa. An unexpected policy change in Botswana had frozen their logistics chain, threatening millions in monthly returns. The situation required his personal attention. Meetings. Lawyers. Negotiations. There was no time for recovery. He was getting discharged soon anyways. He was the one who had prolonged his and Nyasha's stay at the hospital in the fist place otherwise they should have been discharged way back. Now the urgent call from Jabu had changed everything. He had to attend to the business matter. No time for long goodbyes or hesitant emotions.
He returned to Gweru but didn't return to Nyasha.
His days resumed their rhythm: checking in on his various businesses—real estate developments, a freight clearing company, a tech-startup incubator, and the NexSure loan platform among others. Money flowed. Staff saluted. Deals closed. Everything was as it should be.
But something wasn't.
At night, he still hosted people at the Southdowns mansion. The usual crowd—MSU and Poly girls, hustlers, influencers, and Gweru's nightlife stars—showed up, drinks in hand, ready to dance and devour the excess.
Yet TK… wasn't into it anymore.
He barely touched the whiskey that once seemed to fuel him. He'd pour a glass, take one sip, then leave it sweating on the edge of the counter. He no longer disappeared into bedrooms with giggling women as much as he used to. They flirted, touched his arm, whispered into his ear—but he shrugged it all off with a half-smile.
His boys noticed.
"Bro, you off the game or what?" Simba had joked one night.
TK laughed it off. "Just tired."
"Tired?" Simba asked. "Since when?"
TK laughed as he took a sip of his long forgotten whiskey. "What do you mean?"
"You getting tired?" Simba had said. "Never."
TK laughed. "People do get tired, you do knw that right?"
"Not you."
And of course it wasn't tiredness. He knew this from the subconsciousness of his mind. It was Nyasha.
Somehow she had disrupted his rhythm, unsettled something buried deep. The girl who once scolded him at a coffee shop, then sobbed into hospital pillows blaming him for everything, had crept into his mind like an old song you couldn't shake off.
He told himself he was giving her space. Letting her be.
But deep down, he wasn't sure if he had the courage to go back and see if she wanted him around. From their complicated relationship he and her shared, it was likely that she had forgotten all about him.
***
It was an ordinary afternoon at the pharmacy. The air was tinged with the familiar scent of antiseptics and herbal meds. Nyasha stood behind the counter, punching data into the computer, half-listening to a customer asking about antihistamines. Her eyes were tired, her posture tense—though her father was now recovering well, life had returned to its usual rhythm: fast, demanding, and quiet.
But her heart hadn't quite adjusted.
She still found herself glancing at the entrance every time someone walked in or when a car parked outside, like an instinct she couldn't shake. Then, on the fifteenth day, it happened.
The chime of the door.
She didn't look up at first. But something… something about the silence that followed—no questions, no greetings—made her lift her head.
And there he was.
Takudzwa.
No luxury car parked outside. No blinding gold chain or flashy shirt. Just a plain black t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. His face was slightly tanned from the sun, his eyes unreadable yet familiar. There was something humbling, almost shy, in how he stood just past the doorway, holding a quiet kind of tension in his shoulders.
Nyasha froze.
Her heart slammed once, loud and unannounced.
Without even realizing it, she stepped out from behind the counter. Slowly at first, then with more urgency, as if her feet moved before her brain caught up. The customers faded. Her coworkers stopped what they were doing, sensing something heavy in the air.
She walked until she stood just inches before him.
He opened his mouth, voice gentle. "Hi."
The word barely landed before her hand shot up—swift, clean—and slapped him across the cheek.
The sound echoed across the tiled room.
TK didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He just stood there, like he had expected it.
"That's for disappearing," she whispered, voice trembling. "That's for leaving me in Bulawayo like… like I meant nothing. Like everything we went through meant nothing."
Her voice cracked at the end, and she turned away, her arms folding around her chest, as if to hold herself in.
"Why did you do it?" she said. "Why did you leave like that?"
TK swallowed.
"I looked for you," she continued, softer now. "I waited."
TK's voice came quietly, "I didn't know if I deserved to come back. I thought you didn't want to see me again. "
"You could have asked," she said. "You could have asked whether or not I wanted to see you than ghosting me like that."
"I'm sorry."
"Is that what you do?" she asked. "Running away when you get close to someone?"
He was quiet. And for the first time since he returned, Nyasha let the silence speak between them. But this time, it didn't feel empty.
It felt like the beginning of something unspoken finally surfacing.
He stepped closer—not too much, just enough to fill the space she had left. His voice was softer now, unsure, unpolished. "I wasn't running from you…"
"So, why?" she asked, her voice cracking with emotion. "Why did you leave me."
He hesitated as he looked around. People were watching.
"I... I... there was an emergency," TK said. "I can't discuss it right now but it was serious."
Nyasha didn't respond immediately. Her arms were still folded, but her body had relaxed slightly. Her eyes weren't as sharp as before. She looked up at him. It looked like he was telling her the truth. As she looked up at him she became unsure whether she wanted to yell at him or hug him. Maybe both.
He wasn't done talking. "You also scared me," he said and Nyasha raised her eyebrows. "You were the one person who didn't try to impress me. You didn't care who I was, or what I had," he continued. "And for someone who always had to perform… that scared the hell out of me."
Her lips twitched at that—not quite a smile, but something close. "You're not saying anything that excuses what you did."
"I know." He nodded. "But I wanted to say it anyway."
A moment passed.
Then another.
"I missed you," Nyasha whispered, voice barely audible.
That admission cracked something open. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, neatly folded piece of paper. "I don't have flowers, or diamonds, or fancy lines today… just this."
She hesitated before taking it. Unfolded it slowly.
It read:
"Thank you for changing the way I breathe.
—TK"
Her eyes welled instantly, her grip tightening on the paper.
"Still not taking that loan though," she murmured, biting her lip.
He chuckled. "Didn't even come here to offer it."
She looked at him properly then, for the first time in days. And he, standing there stripped of pretense and ego, was not the Takudzwa Mukwa the city gossiped about.
And just like that, the bond began—quietly, carefully, but real.
He gestured outside. "Can I take you home later?"
She looked back toward the pharmacy, then to him.
"Okay," she said.
And in that simple word, something unspoken settled between them—like trust, like hope.
***