CHAPTER 21: THE WAITING

 

Narrated by Mapaseka Mokoena

I woke up with a smile on my face. For the first time in months, I did not wake up to the weight of stress pressing down on my chest. I did not wake up thinking about deadlines, client meetings, or my mother's voice in my head asking when I would finally get married. I woke up thinking about him. I stretched in my bed, the morning sun filtering through the curtains, casting soft golden light across my room. I reached for my phone on the nightstand, my heart beating with quiet anticipation. I unlocked it quickly, scrolling through my notifications no messages or missed calls. I refreshed the screen, still nothing, I refreshed again.

 I whispered, shaking my head. "He is probably still sleeping."

I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. I took a shower, letting the hot water run over my skin. I tried to focus on the day ahead, tried to think about work, but my mind kept drifting back to him. I could not stop thinking about him—the image of him in that suit, the memory of his hands on my waist as we danced, and the sound of his voice in my ears, warm and sweet like honey, impossible to forget.

"Ngiyabonga kakhulu, nkosazana."

I shook my head and stepped out of the shower. I wrapped a towel around myself and walked back to my bedroom. I picked up my phone again still nothing. A small knot of disappointment formed in my stomach.

"Ha, Mapaseka, what is wrong with you?" I said to myself. "He does not have to call you. It was just one date. Remember? Just one date. He probably woke up and realised you are not worth the trouble."

I stopped myself.

"No," I said firmly. "I will not do this, I will not become that woman. The one who waits by the phone, desperate for a man's attention. I am better than that."

I got dressed. I chose a smart black dress, paired it with my favourite heels, and did my makeup carefully. I looked professional and in control. 

I went to work, the morning passed slowly, painfully slowly. I sat at my desk, staring at my laptop screen, trying to focus on the spreadsheet in front of me. The numbers blurred together, I could not concentrate. My phone was sitting on my desk, screen dark.  I picked up my phone, unlocked it, and scrolled through my messages. There was nothing from him. I put it down, disappointed.

"Mapaseka," my assistant Naledi said, walking into my office. "Are you okay? You seem distracted."

I looked up, startled.

"I'm fine, Naledi. Just tired."

"Tired?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "You've been staring at that screen for the past hour without moving. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," I said quickly. "I'm fine. Just have a lot on my mind."

She nodded slowly, clearly not convinced.

"Okay," she said. "Well, I brought you the files you asked for. And there's a client meeting at 2 PM."

"Thank you," I said. "I'll be ready."

She left, and I was alone again.

I looked at my phone, still nothing.

 I whispered to myself. "I am torturing myself thinking about him."

I forced myself to work. I opened files, answered emails, made phone calls. I was professional, efficient, and completely miserable. Every time my phone buzzed, my heart jumped. But it was never him. It was Naledi, a client or a spam message about a car insurance I did not need.

"Ha!" I laughed bitterly. "A car insurance. The universe is mocking me."

By lunchtime, I had checked my phone at least fifty times. I was exhausted. My eyes were tired, my head was aching, and my heart was heavy. I opened my drawer and pulled out the small mirror I kept there. I looked at myself.

"Mapaseka," I said quietly. "Why are you doing this to yourself? He is not your type remember? He is a mechanic from KwaMashu.  He probably has ten other women he is calling."

But even as I said it, I knew I was lying to myself. He was not just a mechanic, he was Qondanisa. The man who had booked an entire restaurant for me and danced with me like I was the only woman in the world. The man who had looked at me like I was something precious. I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair. And then the memories came flooding back

With his hand gentle and steady on my waist, his chest warm and safe against mine, his voice brushed my ear—low, deep, impossible to resist.

"Just relax. Follow my lead."

I closed my eyes and let go. I stopped thinking. I just felt him.

I could smell his cologne—something warm and masculine. It wrapped around me like a blanket. I could feel his breath on my neck, soft and warm.

His hand tightened on my waist. He pulled me closer.

"Ngiyabonga kakhulu, nkosazana."

I opened my eyes, my heart was racing, my cheeks were burning. I was sitting at my desk, in my office, in the middle of the workday. And I was blushing like a teenager.

"What is wrong with me?" I whispered.

I forced myself to eat lunch. I ate at my desk, scrolling through emails, trying to convince myself that I did not care. But I did care,  I cared so much it hurt. The afternoon passed even more slowly. I attended the client meeting. I smiled and said all the right things. But my mind was somewhere else. Why hasn't he called?, was the date not good enough for him?. I drove home after work, exhausted and defeated. The traffic was terrible, which did not help my mood. 

"Qondanisa," I said softly to myself. "Why are you doing this to me?"

I got home and walked into my apartment. It was quiet, I kicked off my shoes, changed into comfortable clothes, and collapsed on the couch. I picked up my phone still nothing, I threw it across the couch in frustration. I sat in silence for a long moment. 

Then I picked up my phone and opened my messages. I typed a message to him.

"Hi, Qondanisa. Thank you again for last night. It was beautiful."

I stared at the message. My finger hovered over the send button.

Then I deleted it.

"No," I said firmly. "I will not chase him, If he wants me he will call. I am not a desperate woman. I am Mapaseka Mokoena. I do not beg for anyone's attention."

I put my phone down and tried to relax. I turned on the TV, but I could not focus. I tried to read a book, but I could not concentrate. All I could think about was him.

That night, he came to me in my dreams.

I was in my apartment, standing in the middle of my living room. The lights were dim, the curtains were open, and the moonlight was streaming through the windows. I was wearing a silk nightgown. The fabric was thin and soft against my skin. I felt warm, comfortable and safe. Then I heard a knock at the door. My heart jumped. I walked to the door slowly, my bare feet silent on the  floor. I opened it and there he was. Qondanisa stood in my doorway, wearing that dark suit. The one from the restaurant. The one that fit him so perfectly. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing just a hint of his chest. He was breathtaking.

"Sawubona, nkosazana," he said softly, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.

"Qondanisa," I whispered. "What are you doing here?"

"I could not stay away," he said. "I tried all day,  but I could not stop thinking about you."

"Then why didn't you call?" I asked, my voice shaking.

He stepped closer to me, his body was inches from mine. I could smell his cologne again, warm and masculine, wrapping around me like a promise.

he said. "I needed to see you,  touch and feel you."

His hand reached up and touched my face. His fingers traced my jawline, gentle and slow. His eyes never left mine.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he said. " Thinking about the way you felt in my arms."

"Qondanisa..."

He leaned closer, his forehead touched mine. We were so close I could feel his breath on my lips.

"Do you want me, Mapaseka?" he whispered. "Tell me. ?"

I could not lie to him and to myself.

"Yes," I breathed. "I want you."

He kissed me. It was not like the gentle kiss I had imagined. This was something else. Something deeper and hungrier. His lips claimed mine with a passion that stole my breath. His hands tangled in my hair, he pulled me against him.

I moaned softly. His tongue brushed against my lips, asking for permission. I opened my mouth and let him in. He tasted like wine and something sweet. I could not get enough.

He walked me backward into my house, still kissing me. He kicked the door shut and pressed me against the wall, his body hard against mine.

"I want you," he said against my lips. "All of you right now."

"Then take me," I whispered. "Take everything."

He lifted me up, my legs wrapped around his waist. He carried me to my bedroom, kissing my neck and my shoulder.

He laid me on the bed and looked down at me. His eyes were dark with desire, burning with intensity.

"You are so beautiful," he said. "The most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

"Qondanisa..." I reached for him. I pulled him down onto the bed with me.

His lips found mine again, hands explored my body. He touched me like I was something precious and sacred. He whispered in Zulu, his voice a soft rumble in the darkness, I did not understand the words, but I understood the meaning. It was love, desire, everything.

"Mapaseka," he whispered against my skin. "Sthandwa sami."

My body melted under his touch. His hands explored every curve, every inch, I felt desired, wanted, alive. I had never felt this way before, I had never let myself feel this way before.

His lips claimed mine again, deep and hungry. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him closer. I needed him like I needed air.

"Ngiyakuthanda," he whispered, his voice full of emotion. "I love you, Mapaseka."

"Qondanisa," I said his name like a prayer. "I love you too."

I clung to him, burying my face in his neck. My body was shaking. My heart was racing and I felt completely safe.

I woke up gasping.

My heart was racing, my body was shaking, and I was covered in sweat. I sat up in bed, looking around my room in confusion.

The moonlight streamed through the curtains. Everything was quiet.

I was alone.

"Ha," I whispered, my voice shaking. "It was just a dream."

I felt a wave of disappointment wash over me, so strong it almost hurt. The dream felt so real. 

"Ngiyakuthanda. I love you, Mapaseka."

I put my hand on my chest. My heart was still pounding.

"Qondanisa," I whispered into the darkness.

I got out of bed. I walked through my apartment, checking every room. The living room,  the kitchen, the balcony and the bathroom.

He was not there, I was completely  alone.

I whispered. "I am going crazy."

I walked back to my bedroom and climbed into bed. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my heart still racing. I reached for my phone, still nothing. All I craved was to call him, to text him, to hear his voice and feel his presence—even through the phone would be enough. I put my phone down and closed my eyes. But sleep did not come easily, his face kept appearing in my mind. I tossed and turned until I finally fell back asleep.