THE INCARCERATED STRANGER

 

chapter 25

 

 

She wakes up to the throbbing pain in her hand. Last night, she thought the cold water would ease it, but it’s even worse now—swollen and aching more than it did when hot water poured over it. She reaches for her phone to check the time: 08:00. With a groan, she gets up, makes her bed, and opens the curtains and windows to let in the fresh morning air. After taking a moment to breathe, she sits on her bed and texts Mangaliso.

“Morning Babe,” she types.

“Morning Love! How did you sleep?” he replies almost instantly. Does he never sleep? Or is he just always glued to his phone? She didn’t expect such a quick response.

“I didn’t sleep too well. You?” she sends back.

“I didn’t sleep well either. Strangely, I was worried about you since our call. I suspected you were crying, but you refused to say anything. What happened?” His message makes her sigh; her heart races for some reason as yesterday’s events flood back into her mind.

“Can you pick me up?” she texts.

“I’m coming,” is his swift reply. She sets her phone down and rushes to shower. Once she’s done, she slips into comfortable clothes and heads out of her room. The joyful noises of kids playing outside greet her, and she pauses to watch them for a moment. 

Her father joins her, standing quietly beside her. 

“Molo, my child,” he greets softly.

“Molo, Tata,” she replies with a small smile.

“Going somewhere?” he asks.

She nods. “I just want to get some air; I don’t know what time I’ll be back.” 

He nods in understanding but adds gently,

 “I’m sorry about yesterday, Ayakha. I don’t understand why your mother didn’t dish up for you.”

“No need to worry, Dad; let it be,” she says, forcing another smile. But he can see that something is off with his daughter; the worry lines on his face deepen as he sighs. He wants nothing more than to hold her close and tell her it’s okay to cry if she needs to—a safe space for all that’s weighing on her heart—but he holds back, deciding instead to let her go wherever she needs.

“I’ll see you when you come back then. I’ll send you some money to spoil yourself,” he says, kissing her forehead gently.

She nods at him with a grateful smile; she has money of her own but won’t stop him from sending more. As he leaves her standing alone, her phone vibrates in her pocket—3k deposited from TATA (DAD). A smile spreads across her face just as another text from Mangaliso comes through: he’s two houses away from hers.

She heads into her room to grab a small clutch bag and bumps into Lulama on the way out. Lulama gives her a nasty look as she passes by without a word. Sighing softly to herself, Ayakha continues walking toward the door.

“I hope you stay wherever you’re going forever,” Lulama mutters behind her, but she ignores it and steps outside into the fresh air.

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MANGALISO

 

He arrives in a car he borrowed  from a friend just the day before to run an errand. Leaning against the vehicle, he waits for Ayakha, his eyes glued to his phone. Suddenly, he looks up and spots her emerging from her home gate. He quickly slips his phone into his pocket and watches as she walks toward him.

There is something off about her stride; it’s as if she is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, which hang low, making her walk feel heavy and unfamiliar. He keeps his gaze on her until she stands directly in front of him, and when their eyes meet, he notices they look different from their usual sparkle.

“Hey babe,” he greets, pulling her into a warm hug. She returns the embrace but hesitates when he tries to hold her hand, flinching away. Alarmed, he immediately releases her hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asks gently. She cradles her hand, revealing swelling from an incident with hot water the night before.

“Babe, what happened to your hand?” he asks, concern etched on his face.

“Can you take me to the clinic, please?” she replies softly. He nods but notices she still hasn’t explained what has happened.

Opening the door for her, he waits until she is settled inside before sliding into the driver’s seat himself.

“Whose car is this?” she inquires as they prepare to leave.

“A friend’s,” he answers casually.

“How many friends do you have, Mr. Mazibuko?” she teases lightly.

“I have plenty of friends—well, more like people I trust,” he clarifies with a grin. She nods in understanding.

“I’m taking you to a private hospital, not just a clinic,” he declares as they pull away from the curb…

She raises an eyebrow, a hint of surprise crossing her face. “A private hospital? You really don’t have to go through all that trouble for me.”

“I want to make sure you’re okay,” he insists, his tone firm yet caring. 

“You deserve the best treatment, especially the way that hand is swollen .”

She looks down at her hand, her expression softening.

 “But still ,private doctor is unnecessary .”

He shakes his head as he merges onto the main road. “It is babe Plus, I’d rather know that you’re getting the care you need than worry about it later.”

The drive is filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sound of traffic. He glances over at her, noticing the way she bites her lip in thought. 

“So, are you going to tell me what happened?” he asks gently.

Ayakha hesitates for a moment before sighing deeply. 

"My mother burned me with hot water," she says in a shaky voice.

"It was a mistake though," she adds quickly. He steals a glance at her and sees her wipe a tear away hastily. He doesn’t say anything. With her crying, it’s clear that this wasn’t just an accident; she wouldn’t be in tears if it were. There’s something she’s not telling him, but he decides not to press her now. Maybe after they see the doctor and get that swollen hand treated, she’ll feel more ready to share.

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.

They are heading out of the private hospital, the fluorescent lights casting a soft glow in the hallway. The doctor had given her a cream to apply on her swollen hand and some pills to take if she feels any pain. As they step outside, the cool air hits them, and she takes a deep breath, He glances at her, noticing the way she gingerly cradles her hand against her chest.

 “Is it paining?” he asks, concern etched on his face. She shakes her head.

“No, it doesn’t,” she replies softly. He nods, relieved.

“Do you want something from the mall, or would you prefer your man to cook for you?” he asks with a playful grin. She smiles back, a spark in her eyes.

“I want to eat my man’s food,” she says, and he leans in to peck her lips before starting the drive to the guesthouse.

When they arrive, he parks the car and they step out together, making their way to his room. 

“Wow, this guesthouse is beautiful and so peaceful,” she exclaims, taking in the serene surroundings.

“I know, right? Let me take you for a tour before we head to my room,” he says, as he begins to show her around the stunning guesthouse.

 They head to his room, and he makes his way to the kitchen area to see what he can cook for her. Once he’s done and has set the pots on the stove, he joins Ayakha on the couch.

“How was the visit to your parents?” he asks, trying to gauge her mood.

“It’s great,” she replies, but he can sense the hesitation in her voice.

“Great to the point that your mother poured hot water on your hand?” he probes gently.

“It was a mistake, I told you,” she insists.

“Don’t play that card on me, love. I can see it in your eyes—you’re lying. It wasn’t a mistake, was it?” 

She sighs deeply, her gaze dropping to her lap. 

“Talk to me, please. What is happening?” he presses gently. She looks at him for a moment, searching for the right words.

“I don’t know what’s happening, Mangaliso. My mother hates me,” she finally utters, her voice barely above a whisper.

“She hates you? Why?” He’s taken aback by her admission.

“I don’t know. I wish I did, but I don’t. She’s the only one who knows why. Ever since I was young, she has never liked me.” She begins to tell him about how her mother has treated her over the years—the harsh words, the dismissive gestures—her voice trembling as she recounts the painful memories.

By the time she finishes, tears are streaming down her face, and she’s a mess of emotions. He holds her close, wrapping his arms around her as she cries, feeling every painful sob resonate in his own heart.

He gently wipes her cheeks with his thumbs and kisses her softly for a moment before pulling back to press a tender kiss on her forehead. 

“I don’t know what to say, my love. I won’t lie and say I understand how you’re feeling because I don’t,” he admits, his voice filled with sincerity.

“I won’t say or ask you why you don’t stand up to your mother like you always stand up for yourself. She is still your mother, and that’s something we can’t change. You still respect her because you believe that one day she will change and love you like she does your siblings. But for how long will you wait, love?” he asks, concern etched on his face. She shrugs, unsure of the answer herself, but she clings to the hope that her mother will eventually love her.

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, absorbing the weight of their conversation.

“I hate seeing you cry, do you know that? If she weren’t your mother, I would make sure to pay her a visit myself,” he says, trying to lighten the mood. She chuckles softly at the thought.

“But I hope this is the last time she makes you cry or hurts you. If not, I won’t hold back. I’ll take matters into my own hands,” he adds with a serious glint in his eyes.

“And I’m not joking, my love.” He leans in for another kiss before getting up to check on the pots simmering on the stove.…

After finishing their meal, they both cleaned up the dishes together, sharing light banter as they worked. Once the kitchen was tidy, they settled onto the sofa, wrapping their arms around each other comfortably. The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room as they started a movie on Netflix, snuggling close and enjoying each other's presence in a cozy embrace.

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LULAMA

 

“Listen here, I will not come clean with the truth at all!” she shouts into the phone, frustration bubbling over.

“Well, the more you keep this a secret, the more you ruin your marriage,” the caller replies, their tone steady and firm.

“Just come clean to your husband and let the rest follow. I will also admit my sins, even if it ruins my relationship with him,” the caller continues.

“No way! How will my husband look at me after I tell him I slept with the person he loves and trusts so much?” she exclaims, her voice shaking.

“Then how long will you keep hating my daughter, Lulama? Your daughter too!” the caller presses.

“And I think both of them deserve to know the truth. We’ve carried this secret for too long; it’s enough!” the caller insists.

“It will break them! They love each other; they have a strong bond! Ayakha is his baby girl!” she cries out, desperation creeping into her voice.

“I know, but we both know they share more than just a daughter-father bond,” the caller says quietly.

“I’m giving you only today, Lulama, to come clean or I will,” the caller warns.

“Aren’t you scared of losing your wife?” she asks incredulously. He sounds too relaxed and eager for the truth to be revealed. Doesn’t he think about how she will feel when she finds out?

“I’ve long told my wife; in fact, she saw it for herself. I don’t know how, but she did, and I told her it was a mistake that should have never happened ,” he explains.

“What? Are you serious?” She is incredulous. How does his wife see that Ayakha is his? But then again, she does resemble both her fathers.

“I’m serious. So talk to Bradley and tell him the truth—along with Ayakha!” With that, he hangs up. Frustrated, she throws her phone onto the bed.

A voice suddenly clears its throat behind her, startling her. Her eyes widen in shock. 

“H-How long have you been s-standing there?” she stutters, her heart racing wildly.

“Long enough to hear everything—why you hate Ayakha,” the voice says calmly. In that moment of realization, Lulama feels a wave of panic wash over her as she loses control.

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