Chapter 34: The Flight Home

 

The morning came too quickly. I woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside the window and the smell of something cooking in the kitchen. For a moment, I forgot where I was. Then I felt Qondanisa's arm wrapped around me, and I remembered. Today we were leaving. My heart sank.

I turned in his arms and looked at his face. He was already awake, staring at the ceiling with a sad expression.

"Qondanisa?" I whispered.

He turned to me, forcing a smile. "Good morning, sthandwa sami."

"Are you okay?"

He was quiet for a moment. "I don't want to leave my mother," he admitted. "Every time I leave, it gets harder."

I reached up and touched his cheek. "I know. But we will come back. We will visit her often."

He nodded, but I could see the sadness in his eyes.

"We have to get ready," he said finally. "Our flight is at noon."

We showered and packed our things. When we walked into the kitchen, MaKhumalo was already there, cooking a breakfast

"Mama," Qondanisa said, his voice thick. "You didn't have to do all this."

She turned and looked at him, her eyes already glistening. "I wanted to. My children are leaving. I must send them off with a full stomach."

We sat down and ate together, after breakfast, MaKhumalo pulled me aside.

"Mapaseka," she said, taking my hands, "take care of my son—he works too hard, forgets to eat, and neglects to rest, so make sure he remembers."

I nodded, tears forming in my eyes. "I will, Mama, I promise."

"And you," she said, reaching up to touch my face. "You are my daughter now. If anything happens, if you ever need anything, you  can call me. You understand?"

"Yes, Mama."

She hugged me tightly, and I felt her tears on my neck.

"Thank you for making him happy," she whispered. "Thank you for being the woman he chose."

I hugged her back. "Thank you for welcoming me, Mama. For treating me like family."

She pulled back and smiled through her tears. "You are family,  you always will be."

The drive to King Shaka Airport was quiet. Qondanisa held my hand the entire way.

I looked out the window at the passing scenery—the hills, the houses, the people going about their daily lives. I was leaving Durban, but I knew I would be back.

This place had become a part of me.

When we arrived at the airport, Qondanisa parked the car and turned to me.

"I can't let us drive all the way back to Johannesburg," he said. "We have to be back in our work lives. We have to rest, a short flight is better than a long drive."

I nodded. "I understand."

He leaned over and kissed me softly. "Thank you for coming with me, Mapaseka. For meeting my mother. "

We checked in our luggage and made our way through security. The airport was busy, but Qondanisa kept me close, his hand never leaving mine.

When we boarded the plane, we found our seats—business class, of course. Qondanisa always went the extra mile.

I settled into my seat, and he sat beside me, his arm immediately finding its way around my shoulders.

The plane took off, and I watched Durban shrink beneath us—the coastline, the ocean, the green hills. My heart ached a little.

But then I looked at Qondanisa, and the ache faded.

He was my home now. Wherever he was, I was home.

The flight attendants came around with drinks. Qondanisa ordered wine for both of us.

"To us," he said, raising his glass.

"To us," I echoed, clinking my glass against his.

We sipped our wine, and then he leaned in closer.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

"A little," I admitted. "It's been an emotional few days."

I leaned my head against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close. I closed my eyes, listening to the hum of the plane, the beat of his heart.

But sleep wouldn't come. My mind was too full—of MaKhumalo and that photo.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him.

He was already looking at me.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

"No," I whispered. "I keep thinking about everything. Your mother and that  photo. How I look like your grandmother."

He laughed softly. "My ancestors are powerful, Mapaseka. They brought you to me."

"Or maybe," I said, "it was just fate."

"Same thing," he said, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

I turned my head up, and our lips met.

The kiss was soft at first—gentle, tender. But then it deepened. His hand moved to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and I felt a warmth spread through my entire body.

"Qondanisa," I breathed against his lips.

"Mapaseka," he whispered back.

We kissed again and again. Every chance we got, our lips found each other. The flight attendants passed by, but we didn't care. The other passengers were in their own worlds. We were in ours.

His hand found my thigh, and he squeezed gently. I shivered.

"You're addictive," I whispered.

"Addictive?" he laughed softly. "How?"

"Because you make me forget everything else," I said. "When you touch me, nothing else matters."

He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "Good," he whispered. "Because nothing else matters to me but you."

I felt his breath on my neck, and I turned my head, giving him more access. He kissed my neck softly, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

"Qondanisa," I whispered.

"Yes?"

"Keep going."

He smiled against my skin and kissed my neck again, then my jaw, then my lips. His hands roamed my back, my waist, pulling me impossibly close.

"This is torture," I whispered. "Wanting you like this and not being able to..."

"I know," he said, his voice strained. "But we will wait. I will make up for every moment we had to hold back."

I smiled. "I will hold you to that."

He laughed softly. "Please do."

The flight was only an hour, but it felt like minutes. Every moment was filled with stolen kisses, whispered words, and the electric tension between us.

When the pilot announced we were beginning our descent into Johannesburg, I felt a pang of disappointment.

"We're almost there," I said.

"Too soon," he agreed. "I wish we could stay in the air forever."

"Me too."

But the plane landed, and we gathered our things. As we walked through the airport, hand in hand, I looked at him and smiled.

"So," I said, "what now?"

"Now," he said, squeezing my hand, "we go home, rest and  start planning our future."

I looked at him, my heart full. "I like the sound of that."

He leaned down and kissed me one last time—right there in the middle of the airport, surrounded by strangers.

"I love you, Mapaseka Mkoena," he said. "My queen. "

I smiled up at him. "I love you too, Qondanisa Qwabe. My king."

We walked out of the airport together, hand in hand, ready for whatever came next.