Novels by Tholanez

  That morning, the house felt smaller than it ever had. Every sound carried the creak of the floor, the hum of the fridge, even our breathing. Nomalanga called us into the living room: Bongani, Khaya, and me. We all came without protest. We already knew this moment had been coming. She stood across from Khaya, her posture straight, her face calm in a way that made me uneasy. Nomalanga: “It’s time you tell me the truth.” Her voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. Khaya’s hands was shaking. He stared at the floor like it might open and swallow him whole. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked under the weight of what he’d been carrying. He told her everything. The argument. The push. The fall. The panic that followed. Where he buried Nelly he never mentioned that we helped him. Why he’d been too afraid to go to the police afraid not just of prison, but of everything else that would come out if he did. Each word landed heavy in the room. I watched Nomalanga closely, afraid of wha...

  Nomalanga’s POV A week after Sizwe and I settled back into Ballito, I asked him to take me home to Umlazi. I needed to see my parents   it had been a long time since I’d been away. I knew I no longer had a place there, but sitting with them, talking, and being present was what I needed. While Sizwe was talking with my dad, Mbali arrived. She was breathless when she saw me, pulling me into a tight hug like she’d been holding it in for days. Mbali: “I’ve been trying to call you, half-laughing, half-relieved.” Nomalanga: “ I was on honeymoon. Then we went to Empangeni for ukukotiza. My network didn’t work there at all.” Her expression softened immediately.   Mbali: “That explains it. I thought you were avoiding me.” We sat with my mother for a while, talking about small things, laughing the way we always did. But Mbali kept glancing at me, like she was waiting for a moment that hadn’t arrived yet. When we finally stood up to leave the room, she touched my arm. Mbali: “Can ...

  Three months passed faster than I expected. I had promised Nomalanga we would go back to Ballito, and when the time came, I kept my word. Still, packing up our things felt heavier than it should have. Somewhere along the way, the quiet had grown on me. Empangeni had changed me. Being home slowed my mornings in a way I hadn’t felt in years. I started noticing how little we spent and how much we saved not because we were trying, but because life there didn’t push us to spend. It was just home food, walks, and space to breathe and think. On the morning we left, I stood outside for a moment longer than necessary, breathing in the still air like I was trying to memorise it. Sizwe: “I’m going to miss this place.” Nomalanga zipped her bag and looked around once, thoughtful but ready. Nomalanga: “It was good for us.” Nomalanga: “I’ve never lived somewhere like this, not full time.” Empangeni had been an experience for her. For me, it had started to feel like a rhythm I understood. Babomn...

  When the restaurant wasn’t busy, life in Empangeni slowed down in ways I hadn’t noticed growing up. Not the kind of slow that feels empty, the kind that gives your chest space to rise properly when you breathe. I usually woke up before Nomalanga. Not because I tried to, but because my body had learned responsibility too well. The kettle would boil while the sky was still unsure of itself, that soft in-between light where night hasn’t fully let go. By the time I poured the tea, my phone would already have one or two messages waiting. Nomalanga joined me later, wrapped in one of my jerseys, hair still messy, eyes half-awake but alert. She always checked her phone first. Ballito had a way of reaching into our mornings before anything else could. On good days, that were rare but precious, days where there were no urgent calls and video calls. In those days, we used to shut the laptops without guilt and stepped outside. There’s a river not far from our home. The walk there was uneven,...

  Before arriving, we had called Babomncane to let him know we were coming. He had been looking after the house while we were away, holding the keys and making sure everything stayed in order. When we pulled up, he was already outside, waving as if he’d been expecting us for hours. Babomncane: “Welcome back!”   A smile spreading across his face. He turned to Nomalanga.   Babomncane: “Thank you… for marrying Sizwe and coming back. Honestly, he wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you keeping him tied to home.” He shook his head with a small laugh.   Babomncane: “Those boys… Khaya and Bongani… they’ve been swallowed by the city. Forgotten what home feels like, chasing their own lives. It’s good to see you two back here.” We laughed, and he helped with the bags, showing us that the house was just as we had left it. Stepping inside felt familiar, like the space had been waiting for us. Empangeni welcomed us badly, Nomalanga’s phone was struggling to connect to the n...

  Mbali’s POV I tried calling Nomalanga the same night. Straight to voicemail. I told myself she was busy newly married, wrapped in celebration, surrounded by people. I waited an hour and tried again. The phone went straight to voicemail again. By the third call, unease had settled in my chest. The next morning, I tried once more. Still voicemail. Then again that evening. And the day after that. A week passed like this. Then, one morning, I called again. This time, a flat voice answered instead. The number you have dialled does not exist. I stared at my phone, my fingers frozen. I thought about going to her family. About telling them everything I knew, everything I suspected. But I could already see how it would unfold. Questions. Doubt. Defensiveness. Khaya was their new in-law now. His word would weigh more than mine. And what I had wasn’t proof. It would only cause unnecessary drama. And drama would warn them. The truth was, there was only one person who could make sense of this...