Dead flowers enrich the soil

The seed

The soft morning light filtered through the small window of Langa's room, casting long shadows on the floor. It was still early, the village of Qonce—better known as King William's Town—was just waking up. Birds chirped outside, their songs blending with the distant sounds of roosters crowing and the soft chatter of neighbors starting their day. Langa sat up slowly, her mind already racing with thoughts about her future. Today wasn't just any day; it was a day full of hope.

She stretched her arms above her head, feeling the warmth of her blanket fall away, and then slid her feet into her worn slippers. The smell of freshly brewed tea and the distant sound of her grandmother's soft humming greeted her as she stepped out of her room.

Before heading to the kitchen, she stood for a moment in front of the old mirror on her wall, gazing at her reflection. At 19, Langa was no longer the little girl who used to chase after goats in the fields with her cousins. She had grown into a young woman, tall and graceful, with eyes full of dreams and a heart ready for the world. Her dark hair was braided neatly, a task her mother helped with the night before, and she adjusted the loose sweater she had thrown on to keep out the morning chill.

The house she shared with her family was small but full of love. Her mother and father, always bustling around, never had much to give in terms of money, but they poured everything they had into their family. Her grandparents, who lived with them, were the heart of the home. Her grandmother, a quiet yet powerful presence, always rose before the sun to prepare tea, while her grandfather sat in his favorite chair by the window, watching the world outside like a silent guardian.

Langa stepped into the kitchen and smiled when she saw her grandmother at the stove, the old kettle rattling softly as it boiled.

"Molo, gogo," Langa greeted, her voice warm as she kissed her grandmother's cheek.

"Molo, ntombi yam," her grandmother replied, her voice soft and full of love. "I was just about to make tea for your grandfather. You're up early today."

Langa nodded, her thoughts already drifting to the letter she had written the night before. "I thought I'd help out this morning," she said, reaching for a second mug.

The letter to the South African Academy of Fashion—SAF, the most prestigious fashion school in the country—was tucked safely in her drawer, waiting for the postman to come later. It wasn't just any letter; it was her application to the one place where her dreams could finally become reality. Ever since she was a little girl, sewing clothes for her dolls out of leftover scraps, Langa had known that fashion was her true passion. She had sent in her portfolio weeks ago, a collection of sketches she had spent months perfecting, and now all she could do was wait.

Her stomach fluttered with a mix of excitement and fear as she poured tea into the cups. She had applied for a bursary too—without it, attending the academy would be impossible. Her parents did everything they could to support her, but she knew they didn't have the money for tuition. That's why getting straight A's in school had been so important. Her grades were her ticket to a different life, a life filled with runway shows, design sketches, and the glamorous world she had always dreamed of.

She carried the mugs to the small living room, where her grandfather sat, staring out at the mist-covered hills.

"Here you go, tata," she said softly, placing the mug next to him. He smiled at her, his wrinkled face lighting up as he took the cup.

"Enkosi, Langa," he said, his voice raspy but kind. "You're always taking care of us."

Langa smiled back and sat down across from him. The quietness of the morning wrapped around them like a blanket, and for a moment, she let herself imagine what it would be like to live in Johannesburg, where the fashion school was. She had never left the Eastern Cape before, but the idea of moving to the big city both thrilled and terrified her.

Her mother walked into the room, carrying a basket of freshly washed clothes. She smiled at Langa. "Are you ready for today? I know you've been waiting for that letter."

Langa nodded, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm ready," she said, though her heart was pounding in her chest. "I just hope they see how much this means to me."

Her grandmother, who had just walked in from the kitchen, placed a hand on Langa's shoulder. "They will, ntombi yam. You have worked hard for this. The world is waiting for you."

Langa smiled gratefully, but inside, the uncertainty still lingered. What if her best wasn't enough? What if she never made it to Johannesburg? But just as quickly as the doubts came, she pushed them away. She had done everything she could. Now, all that was left was to wait.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, Langa found herself back in her room, staring at the letter one more time. The name of the school, the South African Academy of Fashion, gleamed in bold letters at the top. It was her dream, her future, and in this moment, she was ready to take the leap.

Tomorrow, the letter would be sent. Tomorrow, her journey would truly begin.