"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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴𝙸𝚂𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙴𝙽𝚃, love is kind."
"Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
Paul The Apostle continuously emphasised in the first book of Corinthians. Scriptures are easier to read, study, and meditate on; not when you face inescapable situations that require you to apply them into your life.
I love Ayize, I live for Ayize. But what am I expected to do when my very person who was made for me brings me nothing but incertitude, chaos, yet a sense of nirvana? Nami angazi, I truly don't know.
I say this again, ngiyamthanda uMkami, that's an unimpeachable reality. Even she, in her heart of all hearts, knows this. She knows that I can't bear her absence. Pursuing her meant that I was tapping into a deeper odyssey of love, trust, yet a myriad of hurdles. And emphasis on the hurdles...
With my gaze affixed on the monochromatic scan of a foetus, a lone tear drops from my eye. It's at this moment that I hated my inquisitive and observant character. She's pregnant. Her body had finally achieved its life's purpose...procreation. However, it's not mine. 2 months and a couple of weeks, I know it can't be mine.
Fuck! Will life ever give us a break? This explains her sudden attitude and pessimism towards me. How ironic? The couple of days of our wedding planning have turned into this. A week in which we were meant to have an overwhelming sense of contentment; has turned into this.
"Ummm?" she suddenly groans. The scrunching of her features reveals the painful movement of her frame and the opening of her eyes. "Bhabha," groggily, she calls out. Words can never fathom her beauty if I'm being honest. Yaze yayinhle ingane yakwa Gxarha.
"Sthandwa sami," I respond with an audible sniff. Her round eyes meander all over my frame before they land on the copy in my hands. Instantly, she blinks vehemently.
"Qa—I—I didn't know how I'd break it to you." She swallows. "I'm sorry Qaphela. I know it's messed up. I know it wasn't part of the plan. I know you take pride in raising your own offspring, but it just happened. And—I'm sorry, but I'm keeping it."
"Her, you're keeping her," I rectify, already cradling her frame and bringing her head to my chest.
"Her?" she whispers, obviously caught off guard.
"I'm hoping it's a girl. Remember when you told me that you'd love a daughter first, so she can grow up like you, protect her other siblings. Become a down low bully like you," I jest, reminiscing of the conversation we'd once had about children.
With a forced chuckle, she speaks. "That was before I found out I'm carrying his child, not yours." She clears her throat, rubbing and twisting her bracelet stack. "Qaphela, my wish was to carry my husband's first child. We were meant to have our first children together, not this group project bullshit."
