Jet lag has a strange way of pulling you out of sleep.
Not violently.
Just enough to make you aware of your surroundings.
It was sometime after midnight when I woke up.
At first, I thought it was the ocean air drifting through the cracked window.
Then I caught it—
The faint scent of weed smoke floating in the air.
Not overwhelming.
Just present.
Curiosity nudged me out of bed.
I stepped onto the small balcony walkway outside the building, and there they were.
Two girls sitting on the steps below.
Laughing softly.
Passing something between them like the night had no deadlines.
They looked relaxed.
Unbothered.
Temporary.
Like travelers who didn't plan to stay long enough to collect complications.
For a second, I almost went back inside.
New city.
No attachments.
No unnecessary interactions.
But isolation isn't the same as discipline.
So I stepped forward.
"Hi," I said evenly. "I'm Dave. Nice to meet you, ladies."
They looked up—not startled, just curious.
"Toya," the first one said, offering a small nod.
"Jane," the other followed, smiling like she already knew the night would stay light.
They were just passing through town, they told me.
A few days in Cape Town before heading up the coast.
Backpackers.
Loose plans.
No rigid schedule.
I leaned against the railing, keeping space.
No pressure.
No assumptions.
The conversation stayed easy.
Where are you from?
What brought you here?
How long are you staying?
Nothing heavy.
Nothing probing.
The smoke curled upward, blending into the cool air.
They offered.
I declined.
Not judgment.
Just preference.
I've learned that the first nights in a new life matter.
You set tone early.
Toya laughed about getting lost earlier that day near Table Mountain. Jane talked about the view from the coast near Camps Bay and how unreal the sunset looked.
Their energy was light.
Uncomplicated.
And that's what made it different from what I left behind.
No leverage.
No hidden motives.
No offers wrapped in expectation.
Just three strangers sharing a quiet piece of night.
At some point, the conversation slowed naturally.
No dramatic shift.
Just the kind of pause that says this moment has run its course.
"Well, Dave," Toya said, standing up and brushing off her jeans, "maybe we'll see you around."
"Maybe," I replied.
No exchange of numbers.
No promises.
They were passing through.
And so was I, in a way.
I went back inside.
Closed the door.
Lay down again.
The scent lingered faintly, then faded.
For the first time since arriving, I understood something subtle:
Freedom isn't about avoiding people.
It's about engaging without entanglement.
Tonight was proof.
A simple introduction.
A shared laugh.
No weight attached.
And as sleep finally pulled me back under, one thought settled clearly—
This new life doesn't have to be intense to be meaningful.
Sometimes it just has to be light.