IQANDA LE GROOTMAN

IQANDA LE GROOTMAN
CHAPTER 5

ZOBUHLE ZWIDE

Today the cold bit through my bones. I pulled on my black polo neck, a delicate necklace resting above it, slipped into my skinny jeans, long boots, and my brown long coat. I grabbed my handbag and sighed. My phone? Still dead. Weee! Shuthi ngizophumula eCebolethu [it means I will rest when I'm dead] If it's not a cheating boyfriend stressing me, it's a parent demanding my presence. If it's not that, it's my phone having seizures like it's possessed.

I climbed into a taxi, but strangely, there were no other passengers. Just me and the driver. The silence made me uneasy, and I noticed the way he kept glancing at his phone.

Then, out of nowhere, the taxi slowed. My eyes widened. Standing in the middle of the road was a sleek black Dior car, polished, shining like it owned the world. And leaning casually against it was… him. Manqoba.

WTF?

The driver turned to me with a grin. "Nansi i-ride yakho, ntokazi."

I blinked. "What the hell is going on here? I will pay for this taxi. You don't get to treat passengers like this!"

He just laughed. "Weee angisizwa isilungu, wemama." [i cant hear English]Then, before I could protest further, he jumped out, came around to my side, and opened the door for me like some kind of usher.

Do I have a choice? Why are men always like this?

Reluctantly, I climbed out. In my head, I was already promising myself: ngalonyaka ngizothenga imoto yami. Ngikhathele i-drama yalabantu.[this year I'm buying my own car I'm tired of these people drama]

Manqoba pushed off the car, his smirk dangerous yet charming. "Mamkhwatshwa? So things have to be like this?"

"Hey, this was really necessary? It feels like you're kidnapping me," I snapped, folding my arms.

He chuckled, eyes glittering with mischief. "Mina? Kidnapping?"

He opened the car door with one smooth motion, and for some reason, my body betrayed me — I slid in. Damn.

Inside, his scent wrapped around me, expensive cologne mixed with something darker. His presence was suffocating yet magnetic.

"Mah," he began as he pulled off, "I didn't get a chance to speak with you the other day."

I turned to the window, keeping my voice firm. "I don't want a relationship, bhuti. Especially with someone like you."

For the first time, I saw it — a flicker in his eyes. Hurt. Like my words had pierced through the arrogance.

"Awu," he muttered, his voice low, "mina ngiyislwane? I don't deserve ukuthandwa?"[I'm I animal I don't deserve to be loved]

Before I could answer, he suddenly pulled the car over to the side of the road. My heart skipped. He switched off the engine, locked the doors with a click, and reclined his seat, stretching like he had all the time in the world.

"Bhuti," I whispered nervously, "I really need to go."

He leaned toward me, his tone softer now. "Zo, I'm not forcing you ukuthi ungiqome. But I only want one thing from you. Promise me you'll think about it."

His eyes locked on mine, and in that moment, I felt trapped. Do I seem to have a choice? No.

"Okay," I finally breathed. "I'll… think about it."

His smile was slow, dangerous. He reached into the dashboard, pulling out a box, carefully wrapped. He placed it gently on my lap, his fingers brushing against my thighs. My entire body jolted like an electric shock ran through me.

"Open this," he murmured, "when you're thinking about me."

The tension in the car was unbearable. He started the engine again and drove me all the way to my street.

As we reached the corner, I quickly told him, "Put me down here. If Mama sees you, she'll be mad."

He laughed, a deep, teasing chuckle. "Awufuni abone umkhwenyana wakwakhe?"[don't you want here to see her son in law?]

My heart pounded as I climbed out, clutching the mysterious box, his words echoing in my ears. Umkhwenyana.