The sun was up over Gweru, casting a soft orange hue over the city's quiet streets. It was 5:30am when Nyasha stood at the small stove in her kitchen, stirring a pot of porridge while her father coughed gently in the next room. She had already packed his morning medication, laid out a clean shirt for him, and set water to boil for his bath. The radio played softly in the background—ZBC's early morning devotional. She was in a simple blouse, hair wrapped in a scarf, still half in her thoughts. A phone buzzed beside her bowl—Takudzwa's name.
"Mornin', up early again?"
She smiled faintly, not replying yet. They hadn't talked since last night's "debate" about whether "good people" even existed anymore. He'd made her laugh, teasing her about how she needed to loosen up. She had called him "a flirt with a moral conscience." She stirred her porridge and typed back:
"Always. Some of us don't wake up in big houses."
Things finally seemed to be falling into place for Nyasha, as if life itself had taken pity on her and decided to ease up. Her father was recovering quickly, more quickly than the doctors had predicted. Each day he looked stronger, his voice firmer, and the relief that brought her was impossible to measure. The worry that had clung to her like a second skin was slowly peeling away.
She was reconnecting with her friends in ways she hadn't had the time for in months. They would talk for hours, sometimes in person, sometimes over the phone, and she found herself laughing easily again. It felt like rediscovering a part of herself she had almost forgotten — the part that could be lighthearted, even hopeful.
Work, too, had settled into a manageable rhythm. It no longer felt like an avalanche waiting to bury her. She was learning to set boundaries, to say no when she needed to, and the result was that she finally had time to rest. Even simple things — an early night, a quiet cup of tea, sitting on the veranda at night just watching the sky — felt like small luxuries she was finally allowed to enjoy.
And then there was Takudzwa. Somehow, he always knew exactly when she needed company or a distraction. He'd show up with her favorite takeout or insist they take a walk just to clear her head. He never made her feel like she was a burden. If anything, he seemed glad to be there, to be the person she could lean on without apology.
For the first time in a long while, Nyasha felt as though she was standing on solid ground. Life was far from perfect, but it was no longer something she had to survive one day at a time. It was something she could live.
For the first time in a long while, she felt that her smile was genuine, not something she had to paste onto her face just to convince everyone — including herself — that she was okay. It came easily now, unprompted, rising from a quiet place of relief and cautious happiness she'd almost forgotten she could feel.
Meanwhile, Takudzwa stood shirtless in his gym space, wiping sweat off his forehead, music blaring low. He had skipped his usual wild Wednesday night out. Instead, he had spent it studying business spreadsheets reports that had been brought to him, and responding to supplier emails for his LP gas business, and finalizing deals with a local maize processing co-op he had helped fund last year.
His phone lit up. Nyasha's message.
He grinned and typed:
"I'd trade the house for roasted peanuts. And I miss your judgmental stare."
He didn't realize it yet, but her presence—through calls, texts, and those occasional coffee runs—had become part of his life rhythm. And though he didn't say it, even the night hook ups were getting fewer by the day. He hadn't brought another girl home in over a week now.
That afternoon, Nyasha sat behind the pharmacy counter, tired but smiling faintly. One of her tutoring students had sent a thank-you message, saying they'd passed O-Level Biology. She took a breath and glanced at the café across the street—Takudzwa said he'd be there briefly for a meeting.
Across from her, Takudzwa sipped espresso with a business associate. Between talking tariffs and supplier delays, his eyes kept darting to the pharmacy. She saw him once, nodded, and they exchanged a knowing glance that said, "I see you."
They weren't together all the time—but somehow, they were always in each other's world.
***
It was a Saturday afternoon. The sun was high, the sky cloudless. Gweru moved at its usual gentle weekend pace, but Nyasha was restless. Takudzwa hadn't picked her calls or responded to messages in nearly two days, and though a part of her told her not to overthink it—he'd probably just been caught up in something—another part itched with curiosity and quiet concern.
She found herself standing at the gate to his Southdowns house before she even fully decided to go. Her thumb hovered over the intercom before she simply pushed it open. He had told her in a casual conversation one day that he never locked it during the day. This was her first time coming to the house. The long driveway curved in, bordered by freshly trimmed hedges and the distant trickle of a water feature. Birds chirped lazily in the trees. It was all still, serene. Different from her neighborhood.
She stepped up to the heavy wooden front door and knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again, this time with more force.
Still nothing.
Then, slowly, she turned the handle. It clicked. Unlocked.
She hesitated—but only for a second.
"Takue?" she called softly, stepping inside.
Silence.
But the moment she entered the main hallway, her breath caught.
The house was stunning. Wide, open, and modern with earthy tones that made it feel warm instead of cold and rich. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows let in waves of natural light, bouncing off sleek polished floors. She passed a sunken lounge area with minimalist leather couches and a massive TV, but what really stopped her was the kitchen.
"Oh… wow," she whispered, stepping in like she'd just entered a showroom.
It was huge. Stainless steel appliances gleamed under recessed lighting. A marble island stood at the center, immaculate, the surface untouched. Cabinets with glass panes displayed neatly organized spices, labeled in expensive handwriting. A touchscreen fridge silently lit up as she walked past it. Even the cutlery looked like it had come from another world.
Nyasha couldn't help herself—she touched the countertop, ran a finger across the chrome of the stove. The kitchen at home couldn't even fit two people comfortably. This… this was luxury.
"Now I know why you don't return calls," she muttered with a soft smile.
Then a voice from behind: "Didn't expect company."
She turned quickly, her heart pounding in her chest. Takudzwa stood at the hallway entrance, barefoot in black joggers and a plain grey T-shirt, hair slightly tousled, holding a towel like he'd just come from a shower.
"I knocked. Twice," she said, folding her arms, "but apparently even the bell here's too fancy to work."
He grinned, walking closer. "You should've called."
"I did," she replied, brows raised. "You didn't pick up."
He paused, guilty. "Okay, fair."
She looked around again, hands on hips. "You live like this every day?"
He shrugged. "It's just a house."
"It's a palace," she corrected, then added with mock offense, "and you have the audacity to complain about how Chicken Inn is too fancy for your taste, huh? Hypocrite."
Takudzwa laughed.
But Nyasha wasn't laughing. Her eyes softened as she looked at him—relieved, maybe, that he was okay. They hadn't had many gaps like this between them lately, and it had stirred something anxious in her.
"You disappeared," she said more seriously.
"I needed space for a few things," he admitted.
"Space, huh?" she said. "From me?"
"Come on, Nyasha. You know I don't mean it like that," he said. "Something was up and I had to leave the country for a day."
"Ok."
"I should've told you. I'm sorry."
She nodded, slowly. Then took one last sweeping glance of the kitchen. "I think I forgive you. But only because of this stove."
He chuckled and gestured. "Want to cook something?"
She raised a brow. "Are you trying to seduce me with kitchen appliances?"
He smiled. "Is it working?"
Her laughter echoed in the big house, bouncing off the empty quiet and filling the space with something new. Something alive.
The kitchen quickly came to life with sound—clinking utensils, running water, cupboard doors opening, and the kind of laughter that only came from unfiltered, natural joy.
Nyasha tied her braids into a quick bun and threw one of Takudzwa's oversized aprons over her blouse. "I'm going to show you what a real Zimbabwean woman brings to the table," she said, dusting her hands with flour.
Takudzwa leaned against the island, arms crossed, watching her with mock suspicion. "Should I be worried? Because that sounded like a threat."
"It's a promise," she shot back, already pulling out tomatoes, onions, and beef strips from the fridge. "We're making beef stew, rice, and a simple salad. Don't overthink it."
"And I'm not helping, right?"
"You'll wash the tomatoes."
He rolled his eyes but obeyed, taking off his watch and stepping to the sink. "Just so you know, I've had chefs do this for me before."
"And now you've got me," she said, smirking. "Be grateful."
They moved easily around each other, laughter always hovering nearby. When she splashed him with water while rinsing the rice, he retaliated by flicking flour at her. The result was an all-out mini food fight that ended with both of them laughing breathlessly, Nyasha wiping flour from her cheek and Takudzwa declaring, "This is probably the most fun I've had in this kitchen."
"You don't cook?"
"I don't play," he said, then looked at her seriously. "Not like this."
Her smile faltered just slightly—but there was a warmth in her eyes. She went back to stirring the pot, cheeks still flushed. "Well, now you've got a new memory."
They sat on bar stools once the food was cooking, their conversation mellowing into something softer.
"What's the most expensive thing you ever bought just for fun?" she asked.
Takudzwa chuckled."Hahahaha, I don't know."
"Come on, dude, tell me."
"Mmmm, lemme think." He touched his chin in a thoughtful manner. "A custom sound system for a car I only drove twice."
She whistled. "That's rich-people logic."
He shrugged. "What about you? Ever splurged?"
She thought about it. "A scented candle from Pick n Pay. $15. Regretted it immediately, but my room smelled like heaven for a week."
He laughed. "That's cute."
Silence settled for a beat. Then Nyasha turned to him, curious. "You ever miss it? America?"
"Sometimes," he admitted. "But I didn't realize how much I needed… quiet. Here, there's space to breathe. People feel more real."
She nodded slowly. "I think you needed home."
He looked at her, his gaze lingering a bit longer than usual. "Maybe I needed someone who reminded me what home could feel like."
Nyasha looked down, pretending to wipe the counter. Her cheeks burned. "Don't get poetic on me, Mukwa. We're cooking, not filming a movie."
He grinned. "Tell that to this beef stew. It's cinematic."
When the food was finally ready, they sat together, still in the kitchen, still laughing between bites. Takudzwa insisted on doing the dishes—badly. Nyasha teased him the whole time.
And when she stood to leave later that evening, he walked her to the door, holding it open in the cool dusk light. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Just the wind, the quiet, and the understanding that something had shifted between them again. Another wall gently crumbled. Another room filled with warmth.
"Thanks for… today," she said.
He smiled. "You can come ruin my kitchen anytime."
She smirked and walked off, not looking back—but her heart beat louder than her footsteps.
***