"How about we make this love thing real, yeah?"~Qaphela Makhathini.
In this fleeting span of mortal existence, Ayize and Qaphela are graciously granted another opportunity to love each other. However, circumstances don't appear to be as delightfu...
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"𝚂𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈'𝚁𝙴 𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳𝚂 𝙽𝙾𝚆?" Ayize questions, referring to the two problems we left in her bedroom.
"Angazi and quite frankly, I don't care. I feel disrespected," I censure, taking another sip of the bitter espresso.
"They're young Qaphela, not even 30." She tugs at my turtleneck, landing a brief feverish kiss on my lips. "Let them be," she concludes, wiping her lipgloss off my lips.
"They are also parents. Should I remind you?"
"Omunt'wam you are such a bhut'omdala. Jonga, these people are young and such things are inevitable. Imagine if you were basically a single parent? Under 30? Wouldn't you need a break sometimes?"
"I'll never need "breaks" from my own children when they came from my nutsack. That's just the principle, Ayize," I say, with an intentionally imperious attitude.
"Jesus! I just can't with you. Yuh Qaphela," she mumbles, tittering softly. "You can't be a real person."
"Are you ready for today?" I ask and the mood shifts instantaneously. She massages her breasts, wincing in pain. This has been an ongoing thing now.
"Qaphela would you ever be ready to announce to your family that you're getting married in two weeks to the man they had doubts about? The man who was supposedly your husband in another life? No, I don't think so!" she takes a sharp breath in and then entwines my hands with hers, wearing an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry, it's just overwhelming."
With great ease, Ayize had agreed for us to get hitched. She signed the contract about a week ago, claiming that it makes sense and that she'd love being spontaneous just for once. Today we're planning on breaking the news to our respective families.
"If it ever gets too much just tell me and I'll put a pause on everything," I reassure her before kissing both of her luscious hands.
"Not that it's going to get to that point, but thanks." She pecks my lips once again. "I'm dishing up, are you sure you don't want isidudu sam?" she peeves, referring to the soft porridge she cooked.
"Maybe next time. The english breakfast sounds like a better option," I fib, cheesing at Ayize who has her lower lip puckered.
"You have no faith in my Zulu wifing skills, don't you?" she says, tugging her fake hair behind her ears. She shoots me her usual mean glare before staring down at her cellphone.
Man! She is absolutely enchanting with those perfect facial features, not forgetting the gorgeous plump lips. The two tiny tattoos on her collarbone as well as the back of her hand were meant to be etched into her skin because they are nothing but perfect on her. The delicate designs add a touch of elegance to her appearance, subtly drawing attention to her graceful features. Each tattoo holds a special meaning, a reminder of important moments in her life that she told me she'd want to carry with her always.
