Hlomla's POV
Mom: "Hlomla, wake up! You're going to be late for your classes!" Me: "Give me five more minutes?"
Mom: "One, two, three, four, five. Wake up, son!"
Okay, this is going to be a long day. A lot to do; I don't know what to do. I'm already tired; I do not want to do anything.
Mom: "Hlomla? You're still in bed. Don't make me come there."
Why does this lady always have to complain? I'm so tired. And today, it's not like it is a big day; it's the opening. But anyway, I got up, fixed my bed, and cleaned my room. I also did a bit of cleaning and went to the bathroom to take a nice hot bath. Yoh, what a soft life I enjoy! As I was bathing, I dried myself and applied some "Men" lotion and sprayed some on my body.
(While I was about to finish bathing, my phone buzzed. "I wonder who's calling me, and what do they want?")
Me: "Hello, who's this?"
Anonymous: "I know who you are, Hlomla. You can't run away from me."
Me: "What the heck? Who's this?"
The person on the phone dropped the call. Who is this person, and why did they call me?
While I was lost in my thoughts, Mom knocked aggressively, and that was the moment I realized that I'm cooked.
Mom: "Listen here, Mr. James Sithole's son, you have 5 minutes to get down here!"
Me: "Uhm, five, four, three, two, one (I'm here). Let's go!"
Mom: "You and your dad are one, but he was an awesome dad to you and a good husband to me. But we will be, okay! Okay?"
Me: "Yes, Mom."
20 mintues later
The car came to a smooth halt in front of the gate. I sat there for a second, my hand gripping the door handle, staring at the brick buildings that represented my new future. My heart was doing that familiar, frantic dance against my ribs—part excitement, part pure terror.
Mom : " Okay , see tonight and don't be late !
me : I won't ma , promise ? ( he goes closer to school gate )
mom : Okay , son ?
me : Yes mom ?
Mom : " i love you son"
me : I love you too.
I reached down to grab a notebook that had slid toward a pair of black shoes. I looked up to apologize again, but the words died in my throat.
It was her. The lady , the new teacher. Lindiwe.
She was looking down at me, a surprised laugh catching in her throat, her eyes bright and startled.
I stayed frozen on the floor for a second too long, my hand hovering over my fallen notebook. My face was burning. I finally looked up properly, ready to apologize a third time, but the apology died in my throat.
Lindiwe wasn't wearing the simple dress I saw at the church. She was in a sharp blazer, holding a tablet and a stack of course syllabuses. The realization hit me like a physical punch to the stomach.
Me: "Lindiwe? You... you're the teacher?"
She looked down at me, and for a split second, I saw that same warm spark in her eyes from the garden. Then, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and regained her professional composure, though a small, playful smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Lindiwe: "It's Sister Mokoena in this building, Hlomla. And I see you've already mastered the 'crashing' part of the course. Are you okay?"
She reached out a hand to help me up. Her touch was brief, but it sent a jolt of electricity through my arm that made my heart race even faster than the anxiety did.
Me: "I'm fine. I'm sorry. I was just... I was in a rush to not be late."
Lindiwe (Sister Mokoena): "Well, you made it. Why don't you find a seat? We're about to start."
I scrambled to my feet, gathered my messy pile of papers, and practically tripped over my own feet heading for the back of the room. I found a desk in the far corner, hoping the shadows would hide how red my ears were.
I sat down, the plastic chair creaking under me. I pulled out my pen, but my hands were shaking. I stared at the front of the room as she walked toward the podium. Everyone else was chatting, clicking their pens, or looking at their phones, but my mind was a total blur.
March 2nd, I thought, gripping the edge of the desk. This was supposed to be the day I started fresh. But how am I supposed to focus on my mental health or my grades when the girl I can't stop thinking about is the one grading my papers?
I took a deep breath, trying to still the "noise" in my head, and watched as she wrote her name on the board in neat, white chalk.
I slumped into the hard plastic chair, trying to make myself as small as possible. My heart was still thudring from the "crash" at the door. I didn't even have my notebook out before a heavy bag thudded onto the desk next to mine.
Clifford: "Yo, Hlomla! My man, you look like you just saw a ghost. Or did you actually trip over your own feet again?"
Clifford grinned, leaning back in his chair with way too much confidence for a first day. He was always the loud one, the guy who didn't let anything get to him, which usually made me feel even more like a nervous wreck.
Me: "Keep it down, Cliff. Seriously."
Clifford: "What? I'm just saying. You're sweating, bro. Relax. It's just school. Besides..." He leaned in closer, nodding toward the front of the room where Lindiwe was organizing her notes. "Have you seen the instructor? Man, if I knew BYU-Pathway had teachers like that, I would've signed up years ago. She is stunning."
My stomach did a slow flip. I felt a weird mix of protectiveness and pure embarrassment.
Me: "Cliff, shut up. That's... that's the girl I told you about. From the church garden."
Clifford's eyes went wide. He didn't lower his voice; if anything, he got louder.
Clifford: "No way! That's her? The one you've been dreaming about? Hlomla, you didn't tell me she was the boss! You've got to play it cool, man. Use that 'tortured artist' vibe you've got going. Ladies love—"
Lindiwe (Sister Mokoena): "Is there something you'd like to share with the rest of the class, Gentlemen?"
The room went dead silent.
I looked up, and my soul felt like it was leaving my body. Lindiwe was standing right at the edge of our row. She had her arms crossed, her eyes locked onto mine. She wasn't smiling anymore, but there was a flicker of something in her gaze—maybe disappointment, or maybe she was just trying not to laugh at how red my face was.
Clifford: (Suddenly very quiet) "No, Sister. We were just... discussing the syllabus."
Lindiwe: "The syllabus is on the screen, Clifford. And Hlomla? I expected you to be the one focusing, considering what we talked about at the gate."
I couldn't even find my voice. I just nodded quickly, staring down at my blank desk like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
Lindiwe: "Good. Let's begin."
As she walked back to the front, Clifford leaned over and whispered one last thing.
Clifford: "You are so dead, bro. But she definitely knows your name."