Chapter 31: Life at University

 

Mbali’s first days at UKZN Pietermaritzburg were a whirlwind of nerves, discovery, and quiet victories. Walking through the campus gates with her student card around her neck, she felt like a stranger in a world that had once seemed unreachable. But with every lecture attended, every note scribbled down, and every cup of coffee shared with classmates, she began to feel like she belonged. She kept a low profile at first. She wore neutral clothes, sat in the middle row not too close to the front, not too far in the back. But her lecturers noticed her seriousness. Her questions were thoughtful, and when she spoke in class, it was with the insight of someone who had lived the theories they were studying. The module on trauma counselling hit her the hardest. During one discussion, her lecturer asked, 

Lecture: “Why do some survivors return to their abusers?” 

Mbali’s throat tightened. For a moment, her past clawed its way back up her spine but she forced herself to breathe. Then, softly, she said, 

Mbali: “Because when pain becomes home, comfort feels like a lie. And leaving feels like betrayal. It takes more strength to walk away than people realise.”

The room went silent. A few students nodded. Others stared. But no one judged. Outside of class, Mbali found herself slowly building new relationships. One girl, Lethu, was drawn to her quiet strength. They studied together, shared secrets over chicken wraps in the quad, and laughed about how hard first-year stats could crush your soul. Yet, some nights, the shame still returned. She’d sit alone in her room on campus, staring at her reflection, haunted by whispers from her past.

But then Mandla’s voice would echo in her mind “You’re not surviving anymore. You’re rising.” And she’d get back to her books, her notes, her goals. Because this time, Mbali wasn’t running from anything. She was running towards something. The quiet hum of the coffee shop in Durban offered a strange sense of calm. Outside, the ocean breeze danced through the palm trees, but inside, the tension clung like fog to the windows. Mbali sat at a corner table, her fingers curled around a ceramic cup of rooibos tea she’d barely touched. Across from her sat Nombuso poised, guarded, but not angry. Not anymore. Their silence stretched until Nombuso finally spoke, her voice softer than Mbali remembered.

Nombuso:  “I hated you, not because you hurt me but because I thought I had no place once you showed up.”

she said, eyes on the swirls in her cappuccino. Mbali looked down. 

Mbali: “I never meant to take anything from you. I didn’t even know. ”

Nombuso: “I know, I see that now. I held onto things I should’ve let go of years ago. Pain. Pride. Even the lies I told myself to feel better.”

There was no malice in her tone only exhaustion, and something that sounded a lot like truth. Mbali met her gaze, steady and calm. 

Mbali: “You were always more than the pain, Nombuso. You just didn’t see it.”

The words settled between them, like pieces of a broken puzzle clicking into place. Nombuso’s eyes glistened. She blinked quickly, smiled through the shimmer. 

Nombuso: “Do you think we could try again? Not as rivals. Just women. Trying to heal.” 

Mbali reached across the table, her hand closing gently over Nombuso’s. 

Mbali: “I’d like that.”

Later that day, under the fading Durban sun, Mandla stood beside them as Nombuso prepared to meet with someone from her past. His presence wasn’t just protective it was silent reassurance. He wasn’t there to interfere, only to stand as a shield if needed. As they walked toward the meeting point, Nombuso turned to Mbali and whispered, 

Nombuso: “Thank you. For coming. For staying.” 

Mbali smiled. 

Mbali: “We’re stronger together.” 

And for the first time in a long while, Nombuso believed it.

The silence in the hotel room felt heavier than any storm. Mbali stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself, watching the rain blur the glass. Behind her, Mandla and Nombuso sat across from each other, across from everything they used to be. No one spoke at first. Words had failed them too many times. Then, Nombuso broke the silence. 

Nombuso: “I’ve thought about this over and over. I tried to fight it. But I won’t keep pretending this, this is a marriage.” 

Mandla looked down at his hands.

Mandla:  “We both tried. And we both lost,” 

Nombuso finished quietly. Mbali turned slowly, her voice barely a whisper. 

Mbali: “You don’t have to do this for me.”

Nombuso shook her head. 

Nombuso: “This isn’t about you anymore. It’s about choosing peace over pride.”

Mandla’s voice was rough when he spoke. 

Mandla: “I love both of you in different ways but I haven’t loved myself in a long time.” 

Three broken hearts in one room, all trying to do the right thing whatever that even meant now.

Nombuso:  “I’ll file the papers, we’ll make it official.”

Nombuso said. Mandla nodded. 

Mandla: “I’ll do the same.” 

And just like that, three people who had been tied together by duty, guilt, love, and betrayal began to untangle themselves. Not with hatred. Not with vengeance. But with tired, honest hearts… and the kind of silence that finally offered peace.