It is not every day that childhood enemies turn out to be blood brothers. It is definitely not every day where you lose one brother and shortly gain another. Melokuhle sat on the bed hoping Manqoba would come back with a chirpy scream saying it's a prank and that there's a hidden camera somewhere in that room, instead he was left dishevelled and confused. He led his hands to the back to secure some balance, then brought them back up and scoffed to himself. It was a way for his mind to expel some of that crisp shock. It wasn't the kind of laughter that suggested that there was a comedian in the room, but rather it was an expression of failed brain processing. He was failing to understand the why and how. He decided to get up and carry on with his day. If anything was to materialize out of all this labyrinth, he would wait to see what it would be instead of overthinking himself into a headache. He packed up his books and left for the community library, where he was going to prepare for the exams that would most likely determine his fate. When he took a moment that was supposed to be short to check the time, he noticed a text from his mother, asking him how studying is going. A little tingle floated in his heart, travelling through all the right neurotic channels to the muscles responsible for his smile. He enjoyed this, this thing of having his biological mother actively around, in his life. There was definitely something about this fact that reassured that things do collapse but they have the potential of being put back together again; that pawpaws do hit the fan but when the orange mess splatters on your face, your mother will lovingly clean it up; that even though it won't be every time where things turn out okay, your mother's hugs will always envelope your broken heart with all the right and required warmth. A short moment took to briefly reply to a mother's love turned to unintentional nap. He was swept off to an all too familiar place like sea litter getting washed onto land. He felt himself walk onto the spot him and the late Busi had marked as their love site, as their own personal spot. It was normal day just like those in their lived past. The routinely hug was exchanged followed by a lengthy kiss that stirred abhorrence in the passer-by adults.
"You cut your hair? You look gorgeous"
His compliment was met by a shy giggle. He cupped her chin and raised his face up towards his.
"I'm serious. You look breathtakingly beautiful", he went on. She stole a kiss from his lips and said, "Ngiyabonga". He enjoyed those, the quick stolen kisses from her. If he didn't receive one, he already knew something was emotionally wrong with her. They were such a common tradition in their relationship that she even did them in public. He never minded any of them; he in fact, enjoyed them. Even when they dipped him into trouble with the other girls he'd be messing around with. When he met Busi, it was at a period where it was as if he'd recently discovered that he had a penis and wanted to test it on everything that would consent to see what it is for. Being the handsome prince who happened to be one of the rich boys did not help this stage of his life with shxt. It was as if he was on dating steroids. He caught a disease and infected Mxolisi with it by a single sneeze.
The short moment he shared with Busi felt all too realistic to only be just a dream. When he opened his eyes back into the real world, he hated himself for it. He felt he shouldn't have allowed her to get away. According to him, that was a dream meant to last for a couple of hours since forever wasn't an option. A heavy feeling of plain sadness replaced all the fulfilment he was experiencing a couple of minutes ago as he sat and processed what had just happened – when his conscious mind had to accept that it was only just a dream. He'd longed to see her again; he was happy about that part. However, what maddened him was how much of a tease it felt like. It was at that moment where he realized that he still found her demise unacceptable, that his healing journey was not even on the on-your-marks phase. He ran his hands down his face in minimum frustration and stood up to get something to down all the resurrected hurt he felt abrasive against his throat.
