The school grounds of Imbeka were still muddy from last week's rain, but the morning had returned to its usual heat and stillness. As the bell rang for the first lesson, Pretty walked quietly behind the others, her satchel heavy against her shoulder. There was something about this new week that made her feel… unsettled. Not in a bad way. Just in a way she couldn't name.
Miss Msomi was waiting at the classroom door, as sharp as ever in her forest green skirt and thick glasses. "Open your Natural Sciences books. We're discussing organ systems today," she said.
Pretty took her seat near the window, her eyes drifting to the new girl—Akhona. She had joined their class just a few days ago, and even though they'd exchanged only a few words, there was something magnetic about her. Not in a loud, popular kind of way. Akhona moved differently. She didn't try to fit in. She just existed—calm and quiet—with her braids always tied in a loose bun and a faded tote bag that carried more books than necessary.
During the lesson, their teacher asked the class to partner up for a short activity. The room filled with chairs scraping, bags shuffling, and whispered agreements.
Pretty didn't move.
She was usually the one girls rushed to sit with, but today, Sanelisiwe had already moved to Snothando, and Promise was sitting with Namisa.
Akhona slid her chair slightly toward Pretty. "You okay if we partner?"
Pretty blinked. "Yeah, sure."
Their hands brushed briefly as they shared the textbook. It was nothing. It meant nothing. But it echoed loudly in Pretty's chest.
"So," Akhona said, tilting her head, "you're the girl who always gets teased for wearing white socks?"
Pretty rolled her eyes. "That story's never going to end, is it?"
Akhona grinned. "I think it's brave. You wore what you wanted. Not many people can do that."
Pretty didn't know what to say. Compliments usually slid off her like rain. This one stayed.
After school, Pretty found herself walking alongside Akhona without even trying to.
"You stay around Nkantini?" Akhona asked.
"Yeah. You?"
"Close to Mahlanyeni."
They walked in silence for a while. The sky was pink-orange, and the sounds of school were fading behind them.
"You ever feel like you're watching your own life from the outside?" Pretty asked suddenly.
Akhona looked at her, curious. "Yeah. All the time."
"I don't even know what I'm feeling lately," Pretty confessed. "Sometimes I feel too much. Sometimes I feel nothing."
Akhona didn't offer advice. She didn't try to fix it. She just walked beside her, quietly.
When they parted ways at the gravel fork in the road, Akhona looked back and said, "Thanks for letting me walk with you."
Pretty waved. "Anytime."
Over the next few days, they started finding each other more. During break, between lessons, even when collecting water from the school tap. It wasn't loud or dramatic—it just… happened.
Promise noticed first.
"You two are becoming tight," she said one afternoon as the girls sat on the old bench behind the classroom.
Pretty shrugged. "She's cool."
Snothando raised an eyebrow. "Cool like how?"
"Y'all must relax," Pretty said, brushing crumbs from her lap.
But inside, she wondered the same.
Was Akhona just cool? Or was something else shifting?
Later that week, Pretty and Akhona were asked to clean the chalkboard after school. It was just them in the empty room. As Akhona reached up to wipe the board, Pretty sat on the desk, swinging her legs.
"You ever had a best friend?" Akhona asked.
"Had one in primary. We grew apart."
"Why?"
"She changed. Or maybe I did."
Akhona turned. "Maybe both of you just became who you were supposed to be."
Pretty tilted her head. "That sounds like something from a movie."
"I like movies," Akhona replied.
When the board was clean, Akhona dropped the cloth and sat beside Pretty. Their arms touched. Neither moved.
"I feel like you get me," Akhona whispered.
Pretty looked down at her shoes. "I don't know what I get anymore. But I feel safe around you."
Their eyes met for a second—no kiss, no grand gesture. Just understanding.
And sometimes, that's louder than anything.
That night, Pretty wrote in her journal.
"Dear Diary,
Today I felt warm without knowing why. I didn't laugh out loud, but my heart did a little. I don't want to call this anything yet. But I want to keep walking next to her. I want to keep feeling like I don't have to explain myself."
She drew a small heart beside the entry, then quickly scribbled over it. Just in case someone ever found the page.
The next week, during English class with Miss Mthembu—who always entered the room as if the floor was her stage—the students were asked to present monologues.
Pretty stood in front of the class, paper shaking in her hand.
"My piece is called: 'If I Were Braver.'"
She took a deep breath.
"If I were braver, I'd say what I feel before I swallow it. I'd hold someone's hand in the light, not only in shadows. I'd say, 'This is me. Take it or leave it.' I'd wear my feelings on my chest like a badge, not a bruise. If I were braver, I'd stop asking if I'm enough. I'd just be. I'd let the world adjust to my volume."
Silence.
Then Miss Mthembu clapped. "That's how you tell the truth. Raw. Real. Beautiful."
Pretty's hands stopped shaking.
And Akhona? She smiled the entire time.