CHAPTER 23: THE WORKSHOP VISIT

 Narrated by Mapaseka

I drove through Johannesburg traffic with one thought in my mind: 115 Albert Street. By the time I reached Q Squared Mechanics, my expectations were simple. I ask of Qondanisa to fix my car, when he ask what is wrong with my car I tell him the truth and ask why he has not yet called me since that date. I already felt like this place was not as ordinary as I had imagined. The building looked professional. Too organised for what I had in mind, I stepped out of my car and walked inside. The reception area was clean, bright, and surprisingly calm for a mechanic workshop. Behind the desk sat a young woman who looked up immediately and smiled.

"Good afternoon, madam. Welcome to Q Squared Mechanics. How can I help you?"

I swallowed.

"Good afternoon. My name is Mapaseka Mokoena. I am here to see Qondanisa. I need him to fix my car."

The woman smiled politely.

"I am Thandi. I am the receptionist, unfortunately the boss is not here right now."

My heart dropped.

"Not here?"

"No, madam. He is out on a call-in. But do not worry—we have excellent mechanics here. If you tell me what the problem is, I will have one of them look at your car right away."

I felt confusion wash over me.

"You said the boss? Qondanisa is your boss?"

Thandi looked at me curiously.

"Yes, madam. Qondanisa Qwabe owns this workshop. Q Squared Mechanics. Q for Qwabe and Q for Qondanisa."

I stared at her.

“But  he is a mechanic."

"He is," Thandi said, smiling. "He owns the workshop, but he also works. He loves what he does, he says he will never stop fixing cars, no matter how big the business gets. He is out on a call-in right now, but if you come back tomorrow, he will be here."

I stood there frozen, he owned the workshop, not just an employee. The owner. I thought about the first time I met him—the overalls, the grease on his hands. I had judged him so harshly, I had assumed he was just another mechanic struggling to make ends meet. And all along, he was the boss.

"Madam?" Thandi said gently. "Are you okay?"

I blinked.

“Yes, I am fine, I just I did not know he owned this place."

"Most people they do not know," Thandi said warmly. "He does not like to brag, he is a humble man. He says it keeps him grounded."

I felt something twist in my chest, he is a humble man. All this time, I had been looking down on him. I had been mocking him in my head. I had been telling myself he was not good enough for me.

And he was the owner of this entire workshop.

"How long has he owned this place?" I asked.

"A few years now," Thandi said. "He started small—just a tiny garage with three employees. Now we have over twenty mechanics. He is doing very well for himself."

I nodded slowly.

"I see."

"Would you like me to call him?" Thandi offered. "I can tell him you are here."

"No," I said quickly. "No, do not bother him. I will come back tomorrow."

"Are you sure, madam?"

"Yes. I am sure."

I thanked Thandi and walked out of the workshop. I got into my car and sat there, staring at the building in front of me.

Q Squared Mechanics, I felt like such a fool. I drove away from the workshop, my mind spinning. He owns the workshop, he has over twenty employees.

I thought about the expensive suit he wore in that event, the way he had walked in like he owned the place. I had wondered how a mechanic could afford clothes like that. Now I knew, I pulled over at the side of the road and picked up my phone. I needed to talk to someone. I needed to make sense of all of this, I called Relato. She answered on the second ring.

"Mapaseka! How did it go? Did you see him? Did you talk to him? Tell me everything!"

I sighed.

"I went to the workshop, Relato. But he was not there."

"He was not there? Then where is he?"

"He is out on a call-in, he is a mechanic, but Relato the workshop It is his."

"What do you mean it is his?"

"I mean he owns it, Relato. The entire workshop. Q Squared Mechanics. It belongs to him. He is not just an employee—he is the owner."

There was a pause. Then Relato burst out laughing.

"Yoh! Ha! Your man is a mysterious one, Mapaseka!  I told you not to judge him!"

"I know," I said quietly. "I feel so stupid."

"Stupid? Why? Because you did not know he was a successful businessman?"

"Because I judged him," I said. "All this time, I have been looking down on him. 

I called him a mechanic from KwaMashu like it was an insult. I told myself he was not good enough for me and he owns a whole workshop, Relato. He has over twenty employees and I did not even see it."

"That explains the expensive clothes," Relato said. "The suit he wore to that event. "The restaurant he booked. A mechanic on a salary could never afford that. But a business owner? A man who owns a successful workshop? That makes perfect sense.”

"Yes," I said. "It makes perfect sense and I feel like such a fool."

"Mapaseka, listen to me," Relato said, her voice softening. "You judged him because you were scared. You were protecting yourself. That does not make you a bad person, it makes you human. But now you know the truth, now you know who he really is. The man who danced with you like you were the only woman in the world. The fact that he owns a workshop does not change any of that."

"Then why do I feel so terrible?"

"Because you realised you were wrong," Relato said gently. "And that is a good thing, Mapaseka. It means you are growing."

I was quiet for a long moment.

"I am going to go back tomorrow," I finally said. "I am going to see him and I am going to apologise."

"That is my girl," Relato said. "Now go home, get some rest and tomorrow go get your man."

I smiled.

"Thank you, Relato."

"That is what friends are for," she said.

I hung up and sat in my car, staring at the road ahead. I drove home with a heavy heart, but also with a strange sense of hope. Tomorrow, I would make things right. I pulled into my driveway and parked. The house was quiet when I walked in—too quiet. The silence wrapped around me like a familiar weight. I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag by the door, and walked to the kitchen.

I was hungry, but I had no appetite, I forced myself to prepare something simple. I boiled some pasta, added a quick sauce, and ate at the kitchen counter while staring at nothing. The food tasted like cardboard. My mind was elsewhere—at Albert Street, in that workshop with him.

After I had finished eating, I washed the dishes and walked to the living room. I turned on the TV, hoping it would distract me. But the images on the screen blurred together. I could not focus every channel seemed to remind me of him—a romance, a comedy, even a car commercial.

I switched it off and sat in the silence. My phone lay on the coffee table, screen dark. I picked it up, hoping for a message. Nothing, I put it down again.

I could not stop thinking about today. The look on Thandi's face when she said, "He owns this workshop." The way my heart had dropped when I realised how wrong I had been about him. The way I had walked out without seeing him, without telling him how I felt.

I dragged myself to my bedroom. I changed into my nightclothes and climbed into bed. The sheets were cool against my skin. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything in my mind. I tossed and turned for what felt like hours. Sleep came slowly, reluctantly.