Chapter 7: The Submission

 

The envelope felt heavier than it really was in my hands. I kept fiddling with it, smoothing the edges, checking the papers inside for what felt like the hundredth time.

Sandile: “Nomusa… you alright?” 

Sandile’s voice cut through my spiral of nerves. He was leaning against the doorway, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his coffee like nothing could faze him.

I exhaled shakily. 

Nomusa: “Aweh, my love… I don’t know, Sandile. What if we messed something up? What if they don’t even consider us?”

He walked over and crouched beside me, resting a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

Sandile: “Nomusa… listen to me. We did everything we could. Every calculation, every plan, every document it’s all there. I believe in us. Nkosi Construction isn’t just a name on paper. We’ve put our brains, our hearts, our sweat into this. They can’t ignore that.”

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But my chest tightened every time I imagined the possibility of rejection.

He smiled gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face.

Sandile: “You remember the night we pulled the all-nighter? You and me, side by side, making that proposal perfect? That’s us. That’s our energy, our drive. Now it’s time to send it out into the world and let it do its thing.”

I nodded, swallowing my fear. He had this way of making everything seem manageable, like our combined determination could actually move mountains.

Hand in hand, we walked to the post office. I held the envelope as if it contained not just our bid, but pieces of our dreams, our hard work, and our hope.

As we handed it over to the clerk, Sandile whispered, just loud enough for me to hear: 

Sandile: “No matter what happens, Musa… I’m proud of you. Proud of us. Nkosi Construction is ours, and this is just the start.”

I squeezed his hand, feeling some of the tension melt away. The nervousness hadn’t disappeared entirely, but his faith in us gave me courage. Whatever the outcome, we had already proven to ourselves that we could dream, plan, and act together.

The days after we submitted the tender felt endless. Every morning, I found myself checking my phone, refreshing emails, imagining every possible outcome. Rejection, approval, nothing… it was all a storm in my mind.

Sandile noticed my restless energy. 

Sandile: “Nomusa, stop worrying” 

He said one evening, leaning against the doorway of my spaza. 

Sandile: “Whatever happens, we did our best. Nkosi Construction is ours, and nothing can take that away.”

I laughed softly, though my nerves refused to settle. 

Nomusa: “Aweh, love… easier said than done.”

Every time the phone rings, I jump like a cat on a hot tin roof.

He grinned, walking over to me and tugging me into a hug. 

Sandile: “Then we wait together, my love. No stress. We’ve got each other remember that. No tender, no client, nothing can change that.”

I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence. Somehow, in the uncertainty, it felt grounding. The waiting was agonizing, yes, but it also reminded me of what mattered most.

We spent evenings talking about dreams, laughing at small jokes, and making plans for Nkosi Construction, even without a single confirmation yet. That hope, that shared vision, kept us going.

Sandile squeezed my hand gently.

Sandile: “Promise me something, Nomusa. No matter what happens with this tender… we stick together. Always.”

I smiled, a lump forming in my throat. 

Nomusa: “Always, Sandile. Tender or no tender… we’ve got each other. That’s what matters.”

And in that quiet moment, under the soft glow of my kitchen light, I realised the waiting wasn’t just about a contract or a project. It was about learning to trust, to hope, and to hold on to each other no matter what the future held.