The restaurant was bustling, filled with the scent of grilled meat and stewed sorghum. Li Chen went there for the quiet corner where he usually read research papers. But that day, a storm was waiting for him. A woman, petite, soft, and radiant in contradiction stood arguing with a towering man dressed in royal patterns. Her voice was not loud, but steady, sharp as a scholar's quill. Her skin was the warm gold of wheat under the sun. Her hair was snow-white, flowing like winter moonlight. Her eyes fox-shaped, icy blue held the clarity of cold seas. Her silhouette was petite, almost fragile, yet her presence filled the space with a magnetic pull. She was Botho Seriti, the warlord's thirty-seventh child. Li Chen had seen many Azanian women since arriving but none like her. She was beauty balanced on the edge of cunning, innocence veined with quiet wildfire. She did not simply exist in the world; she confronted it. "I said I will not marry that prince," she told her father, voice firm. "Not before I complete my studies. Not before I choose my own path." Warlord Mandla's voice was a thunder rolling across plains. "You think freedom is a toy? The prince of the Bantu Kingdom". "I don't care if he is emperor of the skies," she snapped. "I will not marry a stranger for political leverage."
Li Chen should not have stared. But he did unblinking. Spellbound. Seriti noticed. And an idea sparked. If she left with a foreigner, her father's plan would crumble. The Bantu prince would lose interest. Her father, stubborn but practical, would relent. She walked to Li Chen with smooth confidence. "Can I sit here?" she asked. He nodded, dazed. "Good. I'm Seriti. Let's date." Before he could process the words, she took his phone, input her number, and walked away. Li Chen sat frozen for a full minute before whispering in disbelief: "…I have a girlfriend now."