Chapter 3: Dinner at Sakhumzi

 

I stood in front of my mirror, twisting the hem of my red dress nervously. Yoh, this was my first “proper” dinner with Sandile. Red, just like he told me. I wasn’t usually one to follow orders, but something about him made me want to. My reflection stared back heart racing, cheeks warm, eyes wide and I caught myself smiling.

By the time I stepped outside, the evening air was cool, carrying the faint smell of smoke from braais down the street. My stomach fluttered as I walked to the taxi rank, clutching my bag like it was a lifeline. What if he didn’t like the dress? What if he… yoh, whatever.

When I arrived at Sakhumzi Restaurant in Soweto, the place buzzed with energy families, tourists, music floating from the live performers in the corner. And there he was. Sandile. Leaning casually against the wall near the entrance, overalls long gone, replaced by a crisp white shirt and dark jeans, smile like he owned the place.

Sandile: “Eh, sisi ” 

He greeted, voice low, teasing.

Sandile:  “Red looks good on you.”

My cheeks flushed hotter than the braais outside. 

Nomusa: “Hai, mfethu, you just saying that to make me feel good?” 

I teased back, trying to play cool but failing miserably.

He stepped closer, close enough I could smell his cologne a mix of cedar and something warm and my heart thumped audibly in my chest. 

Sandile: “I don’t lie, sisi. You’re going to turn heads tonight, I promise.”

We were seated at a small table in a quiet corner, away from the noise but close enough to feel the life of the place. Sandile ordered for both of us, but I barely heard what he said. I was too busy stealing glances at him watching the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way his fingers drummed on the table while he listened, the way he leaned in just slightly closer every time I laughed.

Sandile: “You know, I’ve been thinking… you’re smarter than most people I know. And not just with numbers or counting coins. There’s… something about you. I can’t stop noticing it.”

He said, voice lower now, leaning on his elbow

I laughed softly, pretending not to melt. 

Nomusa: “Eish, mfethu, don’t think you can just flatter me and I’ll fall for it. You’re going to have to work for that.”

He smirked, that confident, infuriating smirk. 

Sandile: “Challenge accepted, sisi. I like a good challenge.”

The night stretched on stories shared, laughter spilling, small touches brushing hands by accident (or maybe not so accidental). Each moment carried a tension I couldn’t shake: a slow burn that made me wonder how someone so simple in appearance could make my heart race this much.

As we left the restaurant, the streets quieter now, I realised I didn’t want the night to end. Sandile offered his arm like a gentleman, and I took it, feeling a thrill at the contact. Somehow, I knew this was just the beginning the first chapter of something that would pull me in deeper than I ever imagined.