Melo: "What do you want, Ntsikayomuzi?"
Me: "Just thought we could walk together. You know, call a truce."
Melo: "You think a simple walk will make us friends?"
Me: "No, but it's a start."
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When 15-year-old Melokuhle Nanayemhle Bhengu and...
I sat there, eyes closed, as the makeup artist worked her magic on me. The soft brush strokes, the gentle taps of foundation being blended into my skin—it was all surreal. I hadn’t realised how nervous I was until I saw myself in the mirror after the first few touches. But now, it was almost like I could breathe again. The final touches were coming together, and I was starting to feel like someone else.
She told me to open my eyes, and I hesitated for just a second before lifting my eyelids slowly, my breath catching in my throat.
When I looked at the mirror, I barely recognised myself. The girl staring back at me was... stunning. The makeup accentuated my features, and my hair, styled to perfection, framed my face in soft waves. I looked like I was ready for something big. Something important.
I smiled, my heart fluttering. “Thank you,” I said, my voice softer than I intended, almost in disbelief.
“You look very, very pretty,” the makeup artist replied, her smile genuine. I could tell she was proud of her work. I beamed back, a mix of gratitude and shock still lingering on my face.
She hugged me, and I hugged her back, my arms feeling a little stiff from the excitement. I stepped away, lifting my arms to take off the cloth that had been draped around my neck to protect the dress. I looked down at the fabric, a sigh escaping me as I admired it once more. This dress... I’d never worn anything like it. It was a silver/ice blue, sparkly mermaid-style evening dress with illusion crystals and a deep V-neck.
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Just then, I heard a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” I called out, a little startled but excited.
The door creaked open, and my mom stepped inside, her face lighting up the room the moment she saw me. Her hands flew up to her face in shock, and I could see the tears already welling up in her eyes.
“You’re so pretty,” she said, her voice breaking slightly, as she crossed the room toward me. I felt my heart squeeze at the sight of her so emotional. I could tell she had been waiting for this moment for so long.
I smiled, trying to hold back my own tears. “Ma, please save those tears for my wedding. It’s just a matric dance,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
She chuckled softly, wiping her eyes. “Nana, It doesn’t matter. You look pretty.” She shook her head, taking in the full image of me, and then added, “Turn around for mommy.”
I obeyed, spinning slowly so she could take in every angle of my dress and my look. When I finished the turn, I saw her expression soften with awe. “Yohhhh! I didn’t spend hours panting for nothing,” she said, her voice full of laughter.
I laughed, rolling my eyes. “Hayi, ma, you're speaking adult things,” I teased, a lighthearted smirk forming on my lips. The nerves were finally starting to ease, replaced with the warmth of my mom’s love.
