Morning light crept through Buhle's curtains like soft gold, spreading slowly across her room. She lay perfectly still, barely blinking, barely breathing. Her night had been long and restless again. Sleep had come in broken fragments, interrupted by dreams that felt too close to truth.
She had dreamt of water — a deep pool, dark and still — and Ntsika standing on the other side, reaching for her. The more she walked toward him, the deeper the water became. The more he reached out, the more the waves churned violently. But every time she tried to speak, something pulled her back, whispering:
"Not yet."
She woke up trembling.
Now she sat on the edge of her bed, fingers pressed together, whispering quietly into the morning silence.
"God… please help me understand."
There was no answer.
Only the quiet hum of the world waking up, and her own heart beating too hard.
She dressed slowly, wiping under her eyes before applying light makeup. She didn't want Siya asking a thousand questions the moment she stepped into the pharmacy.
She needed strength — not sympathy.
As she walked through the streets, she replayed yesterday's moment outside the store. The way Ntsika looked at her, the pain in his eyes, the honesty in his voice, the vulnerability in his posture.
And the words that clung to her like perfume:
"I can't pretend this connection doesn't exist."
Her chest tightened again.
She shook her head as if to clear the fog. "Focus, Buhle," she reprimanded herself. "Focus on your life. Focus on your work. Focus on your relationship with God."
But the truth refused to be ignored.
She didn't want to think about Ntsika. But everything reminded her of him. The street corner where she first saw him. The pharmacy counter where their hands brushed. The shelf where he once helped her pick up a fallen box. The door where he had stood yesterday, looking like a man unraveling.
She entered the pharmacy with a forced smile.
Siya was already there, humming to herself as she sanitized the front counter. She looked up the moment she heard the door open.
"Friend," she said slowly, "you didn't sleep."
"I slept."
"No, you didn't."
"I tried."
Siya put her hands on her hips. "What happened after you spoke to him?"
"Nothing."
"Lies," Siya said immediately. "Your face says there was something."
"There was something," Buhle admitted quietly. "But I asked him to keep his distance. I asked him to pray."
Siya blinked. "And did he agree?"
"Yes."
"And do you think he'll actually do it?"
Buhle inhaled, unsure. "I don't know."
Siya softened, stepping closer. "Friend… you're in deeper than you think."
"I know," Buhle whispered.
"And you're scared."
"I'm terrified."
Siya took her hand and squeezed tightly. "Just breathe. You're not alone."
But even with her friend's comfort, the heaviness didn't lift.Meanwhile, across town…
Ntsika stood in front of the bathroom mirror, splashing water onto his face. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin beneath them dark with exhaustion. He hadn't slept either. His mind had been a battlefield, his spirit in war with itself.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Buhle standing outside the pharmacy — her eyes soft, her voice trembling, her spirit stirring.
Every time he tried to pray, words failed him, dissolving into a tightness he couldn't express.
He dried his face slowly, leaning heavily against the sink.
He did not want this.
He did not ask for this.
He did not choose this connection.
But it was there — stubborn, persistent, growing louder with every passing hour.
And then there was Sihle.
He dreaded facing her.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway confirmed his fear.
She appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, expression guarded.
"Morning," she said flatly.
He hesitated. "Morning."
She watched him for a moment, then sighed. "Are we going to talk about it or pretend nothing happened?"
He closed his eyes briefly. "What do you want me to say?"
"The truth," she replied immediately. "Whatever it is."
He studied her.
Sihle was not cruel.
She was not the villain.
She was a woman who had loved him for years — in her own way, imperfectly, but sincerely.
And he owed her honesty.
But how did he explain something he didn't understand himself?
"Sihle," he began slowly, "I'm trying to figure out what's happening inside me."
"With her," she said sharply.
"With me," he corrected. "Not with her."
"Don't do that," she snapped. "Don't pretend this is only about you."
His jaw tightened. "What do you want me to admit?"
"That you're catching feelings for her!"
Silence fell between them like a shattered plate.
He didn't deny it.
His silence was answer enough.
Sihle sucked in a breath, hurt flashing across her face. "Wow. So after everything… this is where we end up."
"I'm not choosing anyone," he said firmly. "I'm choosing clarity."
"Clarity?" she laughed bitterly. "Or are you choosing confusion dressed up as destiny?"
He looked away.
Sihle's voice softened suddenly — unexpectedly.
"Do you love her?"
"No," he said quickly. "I barely even know her."
"But you feel something," she whispered.
"Yes."
Sihle's eyes filled with tears, though she fought to hide them. "Then pray," she said quietly. "Pray hard. Because if I lose you… I need to know it wasn't because of a moment."
He swallowed hard.
She grabbed her bag and left, the soft click of the door sounding like a closing chapter.
Ntsika remained still.
He didn't chase her.
He didn't call out.
He simply pressed a hand against his chest, as if trying to steady a heart beating far too loudly.Back at the pharmacy…
The day was busier than usual, but time felt painfully slow for Buhle. She moved mechanically, packing shelves, assisting customers, processing payments. But every time the doorbell chimed, her heart jumped, expecting him.
He didn't come.
She felt relief.
And disappointment.
Around midday, an elderly woman entered the pharmacy — soft-spoken, graceful, wearing a cream dress with a gold scarf. Her smile was gentle, but her eyes held something deeper.
"Good afternoon, nana," Buhle greeted warmly.
"My child," the woman said, touching Buhle's hand. "God bless you."
Something inside Buhle stilled.
"How can I help you?" she asked politely.
"I came for vitamins," the woman said. "But I feel like I came for something more."
Buhle blinked. "I don't understand."
The woman smiled with a kind knowingness. "Your spirit is loud, my girl."
Buhle froze.
"You're carrying something heavy," the woman continued. "Something that is not finished with you yet."
Buhle swallowed hard. "How… how do you know?"
"I listen," the woman said simply. "To people. To their hearts. And sometimes… to God."
Buhle felt her throat tighten painfully.
The woman leaned closer. "Don't be afraid of what God is revealing. But also don't rush what God is still unfolding."
Tears filled Buhle's eyes.
"How do I know what's from Him and what's not?" she whispered.
"You pray," the woman said. "But you also wait."
Silence stretched.
The woman squeezed Buhle's hand gently. "Whatever is meant for you will never arrive in chaos."
She smiled again, purchased her vitamins, and left.
Buhle stood still for several moments, her heart pounding.
Siya approached cautiously.
"What did she say?" Siya asked.
"Nothing," Buhle whispered. "Everything."
⸻
Later that afternoon…
Ntsika sat outside a small café, staring blankly at a cup of untouched coffee. His phone lay face down on the table. He didn't want distractions. He needed silence.
But the silence only made the turmoil louder.
He reached for his phone eventually, scrolling aimlessly, trying to distract himself. But he paused when he saw a message from his older cousin, a pastor he trusted deeply.
"I had a strange dream about you last night. Call me when you can."
His stomach dropped.
He dialed immediately.
His cousin answered on the first ring.
"Ntsika," he said, voice steady. "I'm glad you called."
"You said you had a dream?"
"Yes," his cousin said. "A detailed one."
Ntsika inhaled shakily. "About what?"
"A woman."
His heart stopped.
"What woman?" he asked quietly, though he already knew.
"I don't know her name," his cousin said. "But I saw her face clearly. Brown eyes. Caramel-toned skin. Natural hair. And you were standing across from her, but there was water between you."
Ntsika gripped the phone tightly.
"And something kept pulling you back," his cousin continued. "Not her. Something spiritual."
Ntsika closed his eyes.
"I woke up with one message for you," his cousin said softly. "Be careful. Not everything that feels spiritual is from God."
"What does that mean?" Ntsika whispered.
"It means pray. Properly. Don't follow emotion. Don't follow longing. Don't follow connection. Follow clarity."
Ntsika felt a cold wave rush through him.
His cousin added:
"If this woman is meant for you, God will align everything without confusion. If she isn't… the connection will fade once you pray honestly."
Ntsika swallowed hard.
He whispered, "Thank you."
"Be strong," his cousin said gently. "Your heart is loud right now. Silence it long enough to hear God."
The call ended.
And he sat there, trembling slightly.
That was the exact dream Buhle had.
That was the exact message she prayed.
That was the exact warning she feared.
Something was happening beyond their control.
Something spiritual.
Something heavy.
Something neither of them understood.