Their bond wasn't rushed. It was stitched together by quiet hours, long walks, unexpected laughter, and moments that didn't need grand gestures. Unlike the U.S. cities, Gweru didn't move fast, and neither did they. And for the first time, neither of them wanted it to.
Each evening after Nyasha's double shifts, Takudzwa would be waiting by the pharmacy entrance —never inside, just leaning against the wall, casual, consistent. At first she asked him not to do that but she lost that battle before it even started. Takudzwa was there every single day. He would offer to drive her home and she never accepted. They'd walk together through the streets of Gweru, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking about the ordinary: how her day went, what new flavors the local café had, or how terrible ZUPCO was. Sometimes when she didn't take double shifts Takudzwa would bring her lunch and they would eat it together in the pharmacy cafeteria. He would escort her to the omnibus terminals, and they would always part with smiles and no regrets.
One evening, they paused by a tree just as the sky burned orange. Takudzwa pulled out roasted peanuts from his jacket pocket and passed them to her. "This is how you know I grew up Zim," he joked.
She giggled. "Now I know you're not all imported."
She looked at him as he peeled the shells. "How long were you in America?"
"I went there after high school," he replied without looking at her. "That's about a decade ago."
"So, you basically spent a third of your life, huh?"
"You could say that."
"Ever came back in those years?"
"Nop."
"Why not"
"Had no money for the plane ticket."
"Come on, Takue."
"Do you know you're the only one who calls me that?" he said. "Everybody calls me TK or TKM."
"So, what are you saying?" she asked. "You don't like it?"
"No, no, no," he said. "I actually love it, especially when you do it."
"Dont flirt with me, Mukwa," Nyasha said with a playful grin. "Now tell me. Why didn't you come home over the past decade?"
Takudzwa flinched. "When you say it like that you make me feel so damn old," he said and they both laughed. "Well, I guess I didn't have a reason to come back."
"What about family?"
"Don't got none-"
"Don't use that American accent with me, I told you that already."
"Sorry."
"Anyways, what did you mean by "don't got none"?"
"Grew up in an orphanage," he said casually. "Never met my folks. Not even a photo." His tone was calm, almost rehearsed, but Nyasha could feel the ache beneath.
Nyasha's heart sank. She paused, the wind playing with the hem of her dress. "Takue…" Her voice was barely audible. She stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea."
He shrugged, forcing a hollow chuckle. "Not a big deal."
"It is a big deal, Takue."
"It's actually something I don't like to bring up because I know people always react that way. In actual fact, it doesn't matter. I'm grateful, actually."
Nyasha looked at him, her eyes shimmering with sympathy. "Did you ever go back? To the orphanage, I mean?"
Takudzwa shook his head, his gaze distant. "No. I donate money every year, but I haven't stepped foot there since I left."
"Why not?"
He hesitated, then said softly, "Why would I, when it's a reminder that no one ever came for me."
Nyasha swallowed hard, moved by the quiet grief in his words. "Maybe… going back could bring some closure."
He looked at her, a faint smile touching his lips. "I don't need any closure."
She didn't press further.
"So, why did you return to Zimbabwe now?" she asked with a smile. "Running from the blond American chicks?"
Takudzwa let out a laugh. "Are you funny?"
"Ten years, and all of a sudden you come. What a running away from?"
"Nothing," TK said. "Don't you I could have been on the news like, all over?" "I don't know,"she said. "I never even knew you existed before I met you. Perhaps you were on television and it skipped me."
TK laughed nervously. "Not really. Just got home sick, I guess."
"OK."
"And besides, I came here looking for a girl like you."
"Fluttery won't work on me, Mukwa," she said with a laugh. But she wasn't angry or upset. Instead, she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, letting her silence say what words couldn't.
***
Nyasha once dragged him to a local book fair at Mkoba Teachers College grounds. She wanted to grab cheap anatomy textbooks, and he wanted to tease her about being a nerd. But when she disappeared for a minute, she returned to find him deeply engrossed in a secondhand poetry book.
"You read poetry?" she asked.
"Only when I miss someone I can't put into words," he replied without looking up.
Nyasha blinked, her breath catching just slightly at his words. There was a silence—brief but charged—as she looked at him, his eyes fixed on the book, lashes catching the fading light.
She lowered her gaze, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. "And… are you missing someone now?" she asked, trying to sound casual, but her voice came out quieter than intended.
Takudzwa finally looked up at her, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Isn't it obvious?"
Nyasha's brows twitched. She turned slightly, pretending to adjust her purse, though her hand lingered longer than necessary. "Oh. That's… nice," she muttered, eyes fixed on a spot in the distance.
Takudzwa didn't miss the quick flick of her lashes, the way she suddenly crossed her arms. A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she replied quickly, too quickly. "Just cold."
"In this weather?" he teased, leaning back on one elbow, eyes never leaving her face.
She rolled her eyes but avoided looking directly at him. "So… who do you miss, then? I mean, really miss."
He paused, his smile fading into something softer. "You."
Nyasha froze. Her hand jerked slightly, knocking over a book on the table behind her. "What?"
"You heard me."
She let out a soft, almost nervous laugh. "You're flirting with me, again."
"You asked," he said simply.
Her stomach flipped, but she rolled her eyes to mask it. "Whatever. Come on, let's go. I'm hungry."
"You are being deflective."
As she turned quickly, walking ahead of him, he caught a glimpse of the flushed tips of her ears. A smug smile played on his lips.
"Nyasha," he called.
She didn't stop walking, but her voice came back—soft, teasing. "Don't ruin it with another cheesy line."
"I wasn't going to," he said, catching up beside her on the staircase. "I was just going to say... poetry doesn't lie."
She didn't reply, but he saw her smile before she turned her face away.
***
Sometimes, when sleep felt like a distant luxury and her mind was crowded with thoughts she couldn't name, Nyasha would reach for her phone and call him—barely saying more than, "Are you up?" He always was. Doing parties, either at his home or at his club. Or maybe he just woke up for her. What she knew was that he would always come.
Minutes later, his headlights would cast long shadows outside her gate. She'd slip into the passenger seat without a word, and they'd pull off into Gweru's sleeping streets. The world outside their windows would be still—shops closed, dogs barking in the distance, the occasional blink of a streetlamp overhead. Takudzwa would always marvel at how peaceful his country really was during these quiet drives.
They never played music. The hum of the engine and the night breeze through the open windows were enough. She'd let her hand rest half out the window, fingers slicing through the air. Sometimes she talked—a bit about her father, about work, about memories she couldn't shake. Other times, she just watched the passing lights blur, the quiet presence beside her doing more than any words could.
Takudzwa never pressed. He'd glance at her occasionally, his hand steady on the wheel, offering only what she needed: time, space, safety.
There was no plan—no place to go. Sometimes they'd stop near Antelope Park, just sitting there, watching the sky try to decide whether it was still night or almost morning. He never asked her why she called. She never thanked him out loud. But both knew those drives were sacred in their own small way—two tired souls finding peace in silence.
She once said, "I've never been with someone who makes silence feel like a language."
***
One day, a month later as the sun had long dipped below the horizon, they walked along a quiet road, houselights flickering on one by one. Crickets chirped, and the air was laced with that faint stillness that made everything feel deeper than it was. TK had parked the a few streets behind and now they were having an evening walk near Gweru Showground.
Nyasha glanced sideways at Takudzwa. "Can I ask you something?"
He looked at her with a grin, hands buried in his jacket pockets. "You just did."
She rolled her eyes. "Serious now."
He chuckled, "Shoot."
"…Do you believe in love?"
He paused. It wasn't the question he expected. It sounded like a trap. "Love?" he echoed. "As in flowers and candlelight… or the kind that people write books about?"
"Either," she said. "Both."
"Do you?"
"I asked you first."
Takudzwa took a breath. "I used to. I think everyone does at some point, when they're naïve enough."
"And now?"
"I think love… complicates things. It's unpredictable. People change. Feelings fade. Or get hurt." He shrugged. "And to be honest, I've never really felt it in the way that counts. Not growing up. Not in relationships. What I felt mostly was need… attraction… lust. But love? Not really."
Nyasha was quiet for a while. "I get that," she said at last. "I don't think I've ever believed in it either."
He looked at her, surprised. "You? The responsible, emotionally grounded saint?"
She smiled faintly. "I've just never had time. My dad's illness… school… work. I barely know what rest feels like. Where was I supposed to fit love in all that? A boyfriend wouldn't help me pay hospital bills or chase deadlines."
"Well, I thought Zimbabwean girls date for fun and the money."
"I'm not like most girls."
"No, you're not," he said. "But do you really mean that you have never been in love?"
"Not really."
"Well, you could've at least tried," he said softly. "Maybe you'd tell me how it feels."
Nyasha shook her head. "And end up with someone who wants attention I can't give?" she asked. "No. I'd rather not start what I can't maintain."
"So, do you hate it? I mean love."
"I don't hate love. I just… I've never known what it's like to be in it." She looked up at him.
"Do you?"
"I don't know."
There was a stillness between them. They kept walking.
Takudzwa grinned. "So basically, we're two emotionally unavailable people… walking under streetlights… talking about something we don't believe in. Sounds like the beginning of a disaster movie."
Nyasha smirked. "Hey, I'm not emotionally unavailable. I'm not a monster like you."
"Ouch."
"And it could a disaster movie," she said, "or a romantic comedy."
He gave her a sideways glance. "You think you're the quirky lead?"
"I know I am," she said, lifting her chin.
"What about me?"
"You?" She looked thoughtful for a second. "You'd be the annoying male lead with too much money and too many girls."
"Wow," Takudzwa laughed. "Okay, harsh but fair. But in the third act, I turn out to be misunderstood and brooding. Girls love that."
"Yeah, yeah," she teased. "Then the audience finds out you're just emotionally constipated."
He clutched his chest dramatically. "Wounded. Mortally."
Nyasha giggled, surprising even herself. "You're not that bad."
He smiled. "And you're not as uptight as you pretend."
"Pretend?" she raised her brow.
"I saw you eat sadza with a spoon yesterday."
"I was tired!" she said. "I also had a cut on my finger. Don't judge me."
"Too late," he chuckled. "That's a red flag."
They both laughed, and the air between them softened even more.
"Maybe we don't believe in love," Nyasha said, still smiling, "but whatever this is… it's the most peace I've had in a long time."
Takudzwa looked at her, his voice quiet now. "Same."
She nudged him playfully. "Don't get soft on me, millionaire."
He smirked. "Too late."
They had walked towards Gweru River and now stood leaning on the rails of the old bridge, looking at the water that barely flowed beneath them. Crickets sang in the bush nearby.
"Do you ever wonder what life would've been like if your parents had kept you?" she asked quietly.
Takudzwa exhaled slowly. "I used to. For years. Then I realized I wouldn't be who I am now. That pain built me. But sometimes... sometimes I just wish someone had fought to keep me."
Nyasha reached out and held his hand. "Maybe life was saving you."
He turned to her, eyes soft. "Maybe."
They stood there for minutes, just holding hands in the dark.
And from then on, their bond didn't need explanation.
It simply was.
***