Takudzwa sat at the head of the conference table inside the sleek, glass-walled boardroom of TkM-Mine Logistics HQ in Harare. This was the crown jewel of his transport and fuel import empire. Despite having an executive team that ran day-to-day operations, he had insisted on attending this quarterly strategy meeting himself. Maybe it was a distraction. Or maybe, deep down, he needed to feel in control of something—because everything else in his life felt like it was unraveling.
After that morning incident, back in Gweru, he felt restless after Nyasha's unexpected appearance and sudden departure. The quiet of his house felt suffocating, too full of her absence. Takudzwa was left with a heavy heart and an even heavier silence in the house. The girl from the night before seemed not bothered by the event. She kissed him on the cheek with a smile after he had ignored her question. She looked comfortable—lounging in his T-shirt, humming in the kitchen as she tried to make breakfast like they were building something real. Takudzwa followed her in the kitchen.
"Your kitchen is crazy, man," she said. "I fried some scrambled eggs and toast. Didn't know what else to cook."
"I'm going for a run," he said shortly.
"TK, I was thinking maybe we could talk… you know, about us?" she said, holding a plate in front of him.
That finally made him look at her. Not with anger—just the heavy weight of truth.
She stood in the soft morning light that filtered through the kitchen blinds, the plate balanced carefully in her manicured hands. She was stunning—skin smooth and golden, waist-length braids cascading over her shoulder like silk ropes. The t-shirt hung loosely, hinting at curves sculpted with intention, confidence in every movement. Her lashes curled naturally, and her eyes, a deep chestnut, were the kind that usually made men forget their thoughts mid-sentence. But not this morning.
Takudzwa removed his gaze from her and barely glanced her way from then on as he pulled on his black hoodie, fastening his watch like a man preparing for battle rather than breakfast.
She hesitated, then stepped forward, placing the plate gently on the counter between them. "Did I… do something wrong?" she asked, her voice unsure for the first time since she'd stepped into his life the previous night.
He didn't answer right away. His eyes were fixed on the tiled floor. The silence stung.
"I mean—" she tried again, softer this time, "—I know I'm not perfect, but it's not like you were exactly tired last night."
Still nothing.
"Please,say something," she pleaded. "Do you know how it feels that a guy brings you to his place and decides not to sleep with you? Do you know how ugly I feel right now?"
"You're beautiful. You didn't do anything wrong."
She frowned. "Then why?" She folded her arms, eyes narrowing slightly. "Is it because of that girl? The one who stormed out this earlier when she saw me?"
Takudzwa didn't answer. His jaw tightened, gaze flicking to the wall behind her as if the question hadn't been asked at all. Silence stretched between them, sharp and deliberate. He could see she was hurt.
She waited, expecting a reply—anything—but nothing.
"You need to go," he said finally, his tone calm but clipped.
She blinked. "Wait, what?"
He walked to the door, adjusting his hoodie. "Martha will see you out."
"That's it?" Her voice rose. "I ask one question and you kick me out like I'm nothing?"
Still, he didn't respond. He paused at the doorway, back turned to her. The weight of something unspoken hung heavy in the air.
"I made you breakfast," she muttered, her voice cracking just a little.
But Takudzwa just opened the door, the sunlight flooding in. "Thanks," he said quietly, before stepping out without another word.
Behind him, she stood in the kitchen—her beauty now shadowed by confusion and quiet embarrassment. She looked down at three the kitchen counter. He didn't even touch the plate.
***
By 8:30 a.m., he was pacing, unable to focus on anything—not breakfast, not the reports from his staff, not even the gym session he usually never missed. On the jog.
At 9:00a.m. sharp, his private pilot got the call. Within the hour, the sleek black helicopter with his company's emblem—TkM Holdings—was slicing through the skies. Takudzwa sat inside, sunglasses on, jaw clenched, the roar of the rotors loud but not louder than the war inside his head. From Gweru to Harare, it took less than an hour—faster than road, more discreet than commercial flights.
***
By 9:53a.m., the chopper landed on the helipad atop TkM-Mine Logistics Tower in Harare, his flagship headquarters. The moment his feet hit the rooftop, his assistant was already handing him updates, but he barely heard a word. He had come not just for business, but for clarity—an attempt to bury himself in meetings and numbers, to run from the ache clawing at him.
But even from the sky, he couldn't outrun what he left on the ground in Gweru: the image of Nyasha walking out, the silence she left behind.
He wore his usual calm like a tailored suit, dressed in navy with a crisp white shirt, three top buttons unfastened, watch polished, expression unreadable. The screen at the end of the room displayed shipment stats, fleet expansions, and revenue projections. Jabu, his trusted friend and CFO of the company, was deep into a pitch about a lucrative partnership with a South African petroleum distributor.
"Once the Beitbridge link is cleared, we could cut cross-border delays by 40%," Jabu explained, pointing with his stylus. "TK, final word from you—do we greenlight it?"
Takudzwa didn't answer. His mind wasn't in that room.
He was replaying Nyasha's voice, her eyes, her silence as she stormed out of his house earlier that day. No dramatic exit. Just heartbreak and distance.
"TK?" Jabu repeated.
He blinked. "What?"
"The deal," Jabu said carefully. "The one you wanted us to prioritize."
Takudzwa cleared his throat. "Postpone it. Indefinitely."
The silence in the room was heavy. This was the man who once closed a 1.2 million-dollar fleet deal over a five-minute call. Postponing was not his style. Delegation was—yet here he was, showing up for meetings he would normally leave to his team, only to mentally check out halfway through.
Later that day, at his upscale coffee roastery branch in Borrowdale, he was supposed to meet with a potential investor interested in franchising the brand. He arrived late. Didn't touch his espresso. Barely smiled.
When the investor asked, "What drives you these days, Mr. Mukwa?"—Takudzwa stared at the man for a few seconds too long.
"I'm… figuring that out," he finally said. What was wrong with today.
That wasn't a business answer. It was a man falling apart in a suit. His companies were thriving, his staff loyal, his schedule full—but nothing could drown out the ache that incident earlier that morning had left behind.
And though his empire was vast—from mining and transport to hospitality and media—there was one thing no amount of power or money could fix: the look she had given him when she walked away.
That evening, long after the meeting had adjourned and the office lights began to dim, Takudzwa stood alone by the window in his office on the top floor of the TkM-Mine Logistics tower. Harare stretched out below him—alive, bustling, moving forward. Everything was in motion, except him.
The door opened without a knock.
"Still here?" Jabu said, stepping in, his tie loosened and blazer slung over one shoulder.
Takudzwa didn't turn. "You tell me. I'm starting to think I shouldn't have come to that meeting at all. What time is it?"
Jabu raised an eyebrow as he sat down across the desk. "Five. You were there physically, but mentally… I think even the janitor could tell you were somewhere else."
Takudzwa forced a tired smile. "That obvious?"
"Bro, you've closed deals with oil execs in Dubai with less effort than you put into ignoring today's agenda."
Silence lingered before Jabu added, more seriously, "What's going on, TK? And don't give me the usual 'just handling stuff' line. I know you better."
Takudzwa finally moved from the window, slowly lowering himself into his chair. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling like the truth was written there.
"She found out," he said quietly.
"Who?" Jabu asked. "Found out what?"
"Nyasha," Takudzwa said.
Jabu blinked. "Wait—the Nyasha? As in your Nyasha? The one we were making fun of you about? "
"She came by this morning and found that chick I left with yesterday. It wasn't what it looked like… or maybe it was. I don't even know."
Jabu sat back, expression unreadable. "You serious?"
Takudzwa nodded, fingers steepled under his chin.
"I wasn't cheating," he continued. "She came over unannounced and found that girl in my t-shirt. It was harmless, but messy. I was… trying to forget. Or pretend I wasn't feeling things I shouldn't. I slept on the couch for chrissake!"
"Cheating? We're you two dating?"
"No, not really," Takudzwa said. "You know what I'm trying to say."
Jabu sighed and rubbed his forehead. "TK, my guy. You built businesses with surgical precision. You plan five steps ahead in every deal. But with women? You're like a rookie on day one."
Takudzwa chuckled bitterly. "Thanks."
"I'm not saying it to mock you," Jabu said. "I'm saying it because I know you care about her. I've seen the shift. That's why yesterday when the guys were mocking you I was quiet. The old you would've already replaced her with three others. But you haven't. You're here, moping like a lovesick high schooler and messing up multi-million-dollar decisions."
Takudzwa looked away, the weight in his chest tightening.
"Look," Jabu said, softening his tone. "You're human. She probably saw what she feared most and bolted. That's on her fears, not just your actions. But you… you have to be honest about what you want. Do you want her back, or are you just mourning being caught off guard emotionally for once?"
Takudzwa didn't answer right away.
"She makes me feel like… I'm not wearing armour," he said eventually. "Like the version of me she sees is someone I actually want to be."
"Then go fix it," Jabu said simply. "Call her. Show up. Talk. Don't try to manage her feelings like you manage your companies. Be real."
Takudzwa gave a slow nod, absorbing the words.
"Just… don't screw up tomorrow's board meeting again," Jabu added with a grin. "Or I'm taking your parking space."
They both laughed—brief, genuine. But as the laughter faded, the truth remained: Takudzwa had to stop running from what he felt, or risk losing the one person who ever made his empire feel like home.
"I'm not coming to the board meeting, bro," he said.
***
Later that night Takudzwa drove to Nyasha's house in Mkoba. She rented three rooms with father though he was still in recovery back In Harare.
Takudzwa stood outside her gate, breath shallow, pulse racing,constantly checking his wristwatch. 06:27p.m. After his conversation with Jabu he hadn't wasted any time. He called Nyasha and texted him.
She hadn't picked up his calls.
She hadn't replied to his messages.
The less than an hour flight had never felt so long like it did as he flew from Harare to the private airstrip in Gweru.
She still ignored his texts and calls. And yet here he was, unable to sit still knowing she had walked away from him — again — but this time with a hurt he hadn't intended.
When Nyasha finally stepped out, her arms were folded, lips pressed in that familiar tight line that masked emotion she didn't want to reveal.
"What do you want?"
He didn't waste time.
"I didn't sleep with her," he said, voice low, firm. "I couldn't."
Nyasha raised a brow, silence holding her expression steady.
"I swear. I brought her home because I was trying to prove something to the guys, to myself," he said, pacing a step forward. "She tried, but I couldn't do it. I slept on the damn couch, Nyasha. You can ask the girl herself. Or... Or Martha. "
"Who's Martha?"
"My house keeper," Takudzwa said. "I was foolish to take the challenge and bring the girl home, but I swear nothing happened. We kissed that's all."
Nyasha scoffed lightly. "Why should I believe you?"
"Because we're not even a couple," he said quickly, eyes locking with hers. "I didn't owe you anything, remember? But I still couldn't do it. That has to mean something."
She blinked slowly. "Why would you even go that far just to prove a point?"
"Because…" he hesitated, swallowing, "because when you walked into my life, you wrecked something in me. Something that used to be easy. You make things hard, and real. You make everything else feel… shallow."
Nyasha didn't speak, her eyes softening even as she fought it.
"I could've lied," he added gently. "But I won't. Not to you."
A long pause followed. Then finally, her arms dropped from her chest.
"I believe you," she said quietly. Then, softer: "You're a fool though."
He smiled. "I've been called worse."
Nyasha looked away, hiding a hint of a smile of her own. She felt relieved.
She hadn't meant to fall that deep, not so soon. But after the call the previous night—his voice calm, slightly amused over the thump of distant music—something inside her ached. She had smiled as they talked, even when she teased him about being out late. But when the call ended, it was like something had been taken from her. She lay awake for another hour, just staring at the roof, thinking about him—his voice, his laugh, his eyes. She missed him.
So that morning, on impulse and emotion, she left the house early. The city was still yawning awake as she made her way to Takudzwa's place. Her hands trembled slightly on the intercom. She had no plan, no reason really. Just… hope. Hope that he'd smile when he saw her, hope that maybe, just maybe, he missed her too.
But then the door opened, and a girl—tall, flawless skin, her legs bare beneath his T-shirt—came down the stairs, laughing softly to herself, phone in hand.
Nyasha froze.
The air left her lungs like a punch to the stomach. It was quiet, but the noise in her head was deafening. Her heart crumpled, and her pride dragged her feet backward.
She didn't wait for explanations. She turned, walked away—shoulders stiff, eyes dry. She wouldn't cry. Not here.
The rest of the day was a blur of robotic routine. At the pharmacy, she smiled at customers, gave the right dosages, counted pills—but everything felt like it was happening outside of her. Her coworkers joked around, and she laughed when she had to, but her mind kept drifting back to that T-shirt.
Back to that girl.
Back to him.
During her lunch break, she sat alone, phone in hand, but didn't text. Didn't call. She wasn't even sure what they were to each other. They hadn't defined it. They hadn't even kissed. But the pain was real. Real enough to make food taste like cardboard and the afternoon drag like a punishment.
All day, Nyasha found herself waiting for something she wouldn't admit out loud.
A text.
A call.
Something.
She told herself she wouldn't forgive him easily, not after what she saw. Not after how it made her feel—like an afterthought, like a fool. Still, each time her phone vibrated in her pocket, her heart leapt before her brain reminded her not to care. When his name finally flashed on the screen, her thumb hovered over it… but she didn't open it. He had typed: "Can we talk?"
She locked the phone and slipped it away.
No, not like this. If he was truly sorry, he'd show up. In person. Face-to-face. Let him feel the weight of what he'd done.
But he didn't.
Not that morning.
Not by lunch.
Not even when the sun started casting long shadows through the pharmacy windows.
She hated how much she noticed every car that slowed near the entrance, how she'd casually glance at the door each time the bell rang. A delivery guy. A parent. A tired nurse. Never him.
By evening, she had convinced herself he wasn't coming. Maybe he didn't care that much. Maybe it was all in her head. She didn't get off the kombi at her usual buss top but took the long way home, dragging her feet with quiet disappointment.
At home, she took a long warm bath, hoping the steam would wash away the confusion. It didn't. Her chest still felt tight. She curled up on the bed, blanket over her knees, watching a series on her laptop without absorbing a single plotline. She didn't cry, not really. But a dull ache settled in her chest, and her thoughts circled him like a loop she couldn't escape.
She didn't know what they were. But she knew how she felt.
And it hurt.
Then she heard the sound of a car driving on the road. She listened attentively like a dog on a hunt. The car stopped and the ignition was turned off. Nyasha's heart pounded inside her chest. She quickly stood up from the bed and raced to the kitchen window and peeped through.
He was there.
He was walking towards her door. She smiled as she ignored the first few knocks. At last. He leaned against her door, head bowed like he didn't know what to say. The moment their eyes met, everything inside her—anger, sadness, pride—collapsed in a flood of relief she didn't expect.
She didn't smile.
But her heart did.
And for the first time all day… she felt okay.
"Come inside," she finally said. "I made sadza. I'll punish you with vegetables."
Takudzwa laughed, relieved. "That's fair."
And just like that, a storm passed — not without damage — but with deeper understanding in its wake.
***