Takudzwa had never been one to sit with discomfort—especially the kind that made him feel helpless. After Nyasha's outburst that day, something shifted inside him. The guilt clung to his chest like smoke, stifling and stubborn. He couldn't shake off the weight of her words, the rawness of her tears, or the way she'd looked at him—not with hate, but something worse: disappointment.
That night, unable to sleep, he buzzed the nurse.
When she arrived, he didn't hesitate.
"Can I be moved to another ward?" he asked, his voice low, unusually serious.
The nurse blinked in surprise.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Mukwa?"
He hesitated.
"No… I just… I think it would be better. For her."
He didn't need to say her name. The nurse understood.
He continued, eyes dark with thought.
"I've done enough damage. She needs space to heal without me sitting across the room like some bad memory."
There was a pause. Then the nurse nodded softly.
"We'll arrange it by morning."
By sunrise, his bed was empty.
Takudzwa hadn't left out of pride. He'd left because every time Nyasha flinched at his voice, or avoided his eyes, he felt something in himself fold inward. He didn't want to be a shadow over her recovery. If there was any chance of making things right, he'd have to start from a distance. Let her breathe. Let her see him not just as the man who crashed into her life—but the man who was willing to step aside to fix it.
***
The morning light filtered softly through the blinds, casting pale stripes across the tiled floor. Nyasha stirred slowly, her limbs heavy with sleep and pain, her mind still caught in the warmth of dreams she couldn't fully remember—except for the part where someone had stayed close, silently watching over her.
She blinked, turning her head toward the space beside her bed. No note. No sign. No gift.
A strange hollowness spread through her chest. She sat up slowly, heart starting to beat faster. Her gaze scanned the room as if he would reappear if she just looked hard enough.
"Takue?" she called, voice low and unsure.
A nurse walked in, carrying a tray.
"Good morning, Miss Choga."
Nyasha's throat tightened.
"Good morning,"she said politely with a warm smile. As she watched the nurse stir the tea, she was busy fighting the urge to ask her about Takudzwa. What was happening with her?
"The man in the next bed… where is he?" she finally asked.
The nurse paused, gave a soft, sympathetic smile.
"Oh, Mr. Mukwa requested to be moved to another ward two nights ago. He didn't want to disturb your recovery anymore."
Nyasha's lips parted, but no sound came. She didn't know why it stung so deeply. Maybe it was the quiet presence she'd started to grow used to. Maybe it was the warmth he had shown even when she'd thrown cold words at him. Or maybe it was the truth she hadn't wanted to admit—she missed him. There was something about him being there in the background that was soothing and comforting. And him trying to apologize was also comforting. And now that he was gone...
She drank her tea and spent the rest of the day lying on the bed reading books. Her mind, however, was somewhere else. She could not stop think about why Takudzwa would request to be moved.
That afternoon when the nurse came back with her lunch she asked about which ward Takudzwa had been put in and the nurse told her. Without another word, she got up, wobbling slightly as pain flared through her side. She ignored it.
Room by room, ward by ward, she asked. A nurse finally pointed down the hallway.
She hesitated at the door for a moment, her heart racing as she reached for the handle.
And then she saw him.
Takudzwa lay on the hospital bed, back turned to her, the light from the window washing over the curve of his shoulders. He looked still—too still. Vulnerable, in a way she hadn't imagined him before. He was on the phone.
She stood silently at the doorway, hand on the frame, unsure what to say… unsure why she had come.
But she didn't turn away.
***
The room was quiet, filled with the soft hum of medical machines and the distant murmur of nurses beyond the corridor. A faint breeze drifted in through a cracked window, carrying the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic with it. The air between them felt thick — like a silence that had waited too long to be broken.
Nyasha leaned lightly on the doorframe with her back, while her right arm rested on the clutch for balance. Her left arm was still bandaged and stiff, a small wince twitching across her face as she shifted her weight. Her voice, though soft, echoed in the quiet.
"So… you requested to be shifted?"
Takudzwa stirred. He didn't turn immediately. His jaw clenched faintly before he finally rolled to his side to face her, his eyes meeting hers with caution, as if uncertain whether she was there to scold him again or something else entirely.
"Okay," he said into the phone. "Yeah, I'm healing just fine, don't worry." He paused as he listened. "Sure," he said. "Keep me posted. Sho." He hung up the call and place the phone on the bed as he completely turned to look at her.
"Are you supposed to be out of bed?"
"No," she said.
"Then what are you doing here?"
"I've already asked myself that question," she said. "Don't know the answer yet."
"You should go and rest."
"Perhaps."
There was an awkward moment of silence as the two drifted in thoughts. This was really awkward especially for Takudzwa who was never in such a situation. The room was still, save for the soft hum of machines and the distant murmur of hospital life beyond the door. Takudzwa lay propped up on the hospital bed, a fresh line of stitches visible near his temple, his arm in a sling.
He opened his mouth slightly as if to speak, then closed it again. The silence thickened.
She shifted her weight, unsure whether to walk in or walk out. He gave a half-smile, the kind that says "I'm okay," even when it's clear he's anything but. She didn't smile back.
A minute passed—maybe more. Time felt suspended. The weight of everything unspoken pressed into the space between them. Even the beeping of the heart monitor sounded louder in that unbearable stillness.
Finally, she cleared her throat, her voice barely above a whisper. "You asked to be shifted," she repeated
He nodded once.
"Yeah." His voice was low, rough from sleep or emotion — maybe both. "Figured you needed space."
Another silence fell, heavier than the first. Neither moved. Neither could.
Nyasha was the first to stir. She stepped inside, each step measured, deliberate. She didn't speak right away, just moved slowly to the edge of the room, her hand brushing the wall for balance.
"You didn't have to do that," she said, eyes not quite meeting his.
Takudzwa gave a faint laugh, humorless.
"After what you said? I didn't think you'd mind a little distance."
She lowered herself carefully into the plastic chair beside his bed, wincing as her back met the rigid surface.
"I didn't mean all of it. I was angry. In pain. Scared…" She stopped, looking down at her fingers, twisting them nervously in her lap.
"…and I took it out on you."
For a moment, Takudzwa just watched her. No smugness, no charm — just a quietness she hadn't seen in him before. He sat up slightly.
"You had every right to be mad. It was my fault."
Nyasha shook her head slowly.
"It wasn't just the accident. It's everything. My dad… the pressure… I just didn't know who to blame anymore."
There was a pause. Then she added, her voice quieter:
"But I know what you did… for him. The hospital bills."
Takudzwa blinked, then looked away.
"That wasn't for thanks," he said. "It was the least I could do considering how and what I cost you."
"I didn't come to say thank you," she replied quickly, then softened again. "…I came because… I just didn't want you to think I hated you."
A breath caught between them.
He looked at her again, a flicker of something warmer in his eyes.
"I don't care if you did," he said with a faint smirk. "In actual fact, I do deserve your hatred."
Nyasha smiled for the first time in days, small and tired, but genuine.
They sat in silence after that — not uncomfortable, but understanding. And for the first time, there was no tension… just two people, wounded in more ways than one, starting to rebuild something they hadn't expected.
***