Taste of Love

Siphosethu Zulu

I finally got a single room in res — privacy at last! And the cherry on top? Nthabiseng did too. Even better, we're in the same complex, just across the block. That means we can still have those late-night catch-ups, gossip sessions, and shared snacks when the homesickness creeps in.

It was a lazy morning. I was half-asleep, drooling on my pillow, when my phone rang.

"Lerato la pelo yaka," he said.

Oh, man.

His voice? Deep, warm, rich like morning coffee. I couldn't help but smile, cheeks already heating up. This man got me wrapped around his fingers. Tight.

"Kat..." I mumbled, still a bit groggy.

"Wow... Kat, really?" he replied with a sigh, feigning disappointment.

I giggled softly. "Ufuna ngithini, Mr Katlego Moeketsi?" I said, dragging out his full name dramatically.

"Oh, I see we're pushing buttons today," he chuckled. "But I'll forgive you this time around, rato laka."

Yho, his voice... I swear, it's illegal to sound that good. The way he says rato laka? My insides just turn to melted chocolate.

"Baby bona... uhm, can you please accompany me somewhere today? I need to run some errands," he asked.

I sat up, already alert.

"Okay, let me get ready," I said.

"I'll fetch you in an hour. Bye, baby."

And just like that, he dropped the call. No time wasted. My man is decisive — that's sexy.

I got up, stretched like a lazy cat and made my way to the shower. Hot water, sweet vanilla body wash, steam and soft music playing from my phone. It felt like a scene from one of those slow-burn love movies.

After that, I cleaned my room a bit, made my bed and stood in front of my mirror, debating the outfit. I didn't know what kind of errands he had in mind, but I wasn't going to show up looking like someone's distant cousin.

So I wore my tight dress — you know, the one that knows my body. Hugged me in all the right places, showing off my little NCAA body. I have curves in the right spots, just enough to tease the eye. Complimenting hips, a round little bum, and smaller boobs that sit just right.

I brushed my hair sleek and clean, laid my edges to perfection, and gave my lips some love with a dark brown liner and nude gloss. I looked soft, flirty, grown.

As I stood admiring myself in the mirror, phone in hand, a message popped up:

"Baby love, I'm outside 💕"

I grabbed my handbag, sprayed a bit of my favourite scent (sweet but spicy), and walked out feeling like that girl. I'm a girly girl these days. Cute nails. Glossy lips. Confidence.

I stepped outside and spotted him leaning against his car like a scene from a series. Arms crossed, sunglasses on, a smirk that made my knees weak.

"Nch nch... my wife is so damn fine," he said , looking at me like I was the answer to every prayer he'd ever made.

I blushed, hiding my smile as I walked up to him.

"Where to?" I asked, casually.

He raised a brow. "No hug? No 'how are you, my love?' That's cold."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "Katlego, anginceni ukubuyela emuva," I said, acting like I had somewhere else to be.

"Ahh, Doctor bae, come here," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make my stomach flip.

He pulled me into a hug — warm, safe, intentional. I fit perfectly in his arms. He smelled like mint, cologne, and sin. I could've stayed there forever.

He opened the passenger door for me, holding it like a true gent. I smiled as I slid in.

"Let's go," he said, jumping into the driver's seat.

We were off.

The drive was chilled. Music playing low — something soulful, almost like Sun-EL meets Ami Faku. The kind of music that holds your heart in its palm.

Occasionally, he'd glance at me, resting his hand on my thigh, his thumb drawing lazy circles.

"You're quiet," he said.

"I'm just... happy," I replied, eyes on the road ahead.

"You make happy look beautiful," he said softly.

Oh, God.

I blushed hard, biting my lip to stop the smile that was already spreading.

"You're dangerous," I mumbled.

He chuckled. "Only for you."

We stopped at a traffic light and he leaned in, kissed the back of my hand, then returned it gently to my thigh. I swear, my heart was dancing.

After about twenty minutes, we pulled into the mall parking lot. Not too packed. Late morning shoppers and the smell of bakery goods floating in the air.

He parked the car and turned to me.

"I just need to grab a few things," he said. "But also... I wanted to spend some time with you. Just us. No pressure."

My heart swelled.

"Lead the way, Mr Moeketsi," I said, smiling.

He leaned over, kissed my cheek and whispered, "Let's make this day unforgettable."

And just like that, the adventure began — in a mall parking lot, where the butterflies never stopped dancing.

Woolworths aisles felt like home — but not because of the food.

It was him. Katlego.

Pushing the trolley like he belonged to it. Asking me questions like, "Baby, which potatoes do we buy again?" and "Do we need mixed herbs or just that one with the chicken on it?"

I couldn't stop smiling. "You're hopeless," I said.

"And yet, I'm cooking for a whole queen," he replied, smirking.

We picked fresh veggies — spinach, tomatoes, peppers. Then we moved to the meat section, where he stood for way too long staring at steak cuts. I teased him, "Are you picking a cow or marrying it?"

"Both," he said. "One for dinner. One for life." His eyes locked on me, and I swear my knees did a lil' komjekejeke.

As we approached the bakery, he asked casually, "Don't you like strawberry cake?"

"Like? It's my love language," I said, pretending not to be excited.

He doubled back, grabbed the biggest one with extra whipped cream, and winked. "Noted."

By the time we passed McDonald's, my stomach made the sound of betrayal.

"Hawu, baby, ngilambile," I whispered.

He laughed. "You should've said."

"I need something big," I sulked, holding my stomach dramatically.

He glanced at me, smirking, "Big is coming. Trust me."

Before I could drag him, he pulled into the McD drive-thru and got us two creamy strawberry milkshakes — extra thick, just how I like it.

But on the road, I started to notice... he wasn't taking the route to my res.

"Katlego?" I asked, looking at the turns. "Where are we going?"

He just smiled, reaching over to place his hand on my thigh — gentle, firm, claiming.

Then he turned up the volume and that's when I heard it.

"Ngizokthanda

Noma bengakthandiNgizokshadaNoma ikhanda alithathiAbaziUyenzani yami"

Linda Gcwensa's Ngizokuthanda played as his thumb caressed my skin slowly.

"Baby

Awuyekel bathetheWena minaNgoba ngiyaziUyenzani yami "

I stared out the window, quietly falling deeper into the fantasy I once prayed for. The song felt like a vow. His silence? A promise. And that hand on my thigh? A whole declaration.

My heart was no longer in my chest. It was seated between us, sipping milkshake and whispering, "This is it, girl."

When we finally pulled up — oh my stars.

His apartment?

Luxury.

Glass doors. Marble finishes. The smell of cinnamon wood and money — clean, expensive, understated. A beige couch sat in the middle of a warm open-plan lounge, with soft throws, gold trim, and those aesthetic candles I only see on Instagram.

"Baby, this place is insane," I said, looking around.

"You like?" he asked, unlocking the door with his fingerprint.

"Like is an understatement," I whispered.

We carried the Woolies plastics into the kitchen — also open-plan, fully fitted with dark granite tops, matte black cupboards, and those glowing under-cabinet lights that make everything feel like a cooking show.

He handed me an apron — light pink, soft cotton — and then tied a grey one around his waist like a man who knew his way around fire.

"Ina," he said in Tswana, "Yesterday you said you miss home-cooked food... today, ke nako."

I burst out laughing. "Hao, are you about to chef my heart?"

"Watch me," he winked.

We unpacked and got to work — me rinsing spinach, him slicing onions, talking nonsense in between.

"You're cutting those peppers like you're breaking up with them," I teased.

"Maybe I am. They don't love me back," he laughed.

"Unlike me?"

"Exactly," he said, stepping behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

Goosebumps.

"I'm trying to cook here," I said, giggling.

"Me too," he whispered in my ear, hands staying there... lingering. Just holding me like I belonged.

A hiccup escaped me.

"Yoh! Did I just—?"

"Hiccup? Yes," he laughed. "You're full now."

"Full of butterflies," I muttered.

We cooked like we'd been doing this our whole lives. Steaming pots. Laughter. Touches. He'd grab something from behind me just so our bodies could brush. I'd slap his hand when he tried to steal a piece of meat too early.

"Babe, it's not ready!" I shouted.

"Taste testing is a skill, wena," he replied, proudly.

By the time the rice was fluffing and the chicken stew thickened, I stood against the counter, watching him dance slightly to the music that still played low in the background.

"Ngizokuthanda..."

He looked up, caught me staring.

"What?" he asked, smiling like he already knew.

"I think I'm catching feelings."

"Good," he said, walking up to me. "Catch them properly. I'm not running."

And there — in the warmth of his apartment, with the smell of real food and the sound of Linda Gcwensa — I knew:

This was a chapter i was not ready to face but i will embrace it regardless.

Steam still danced in the kitchen air, swirling around us like mist in a love song. The food was done. The table was set. But Katlego wasn't done with his mischief.

I was focused on dishing up the rice neatly when I felt something cold and gooey land on my cheek.

I froze.

"Katlego..." I said slowly, turning around.

He stood there with the spoon in his hand, smirking like a naughty child. "It was an accident."

"An accident? So the gravy flew by itself and chose my face?"

"Gravity," he said, shrugging innocently.

My eye twitched. "You know what?"

Before he could respond, I scooped a little mash potato with a spoon and splatted it right on his white T-shirt.

"Whoa! Sethu!" he shouted, staring down at the evidence.

I laughed, holding my stomach. "Gravity," I said, mocking his voice.

"You started this war," he said.

"Then finish it."

Challenge accepted.

He took a small drop of creamy spinach and dabbed it on my nose — gently. "Now you're beautiful and nutritious," he said with a grin.

"Keep playing," I warned, laughing.

"Oh, I will."

We were laughing, throwing tiny bits back and forth like children in love — tomatoes, a piece of carrot, a sprinkle of rice. Nothing messy, just ridiculous fun. My apron had more drama than a telenovela by the end of it.

Then suddenly, he paused.

The laughter slowed.

He looked at me.

Really looked.

I don't know what happened — maybe it was the dim kitchen light above us, or the way my breath caught when I saw his eyes soften — but the air shifted. It wasn't just playful anymore. It was tender. Slow. Heavy with something unspoken.

I stood still, a little piece of rice stuck on my chin, chest rising and falling.

He reached out, gently removed it with his thumb.

"You've got... rice on your face," he whispered.

"Fix it, then," I whispered back, not even recognizing my own voice.

He leaned in — not too fast, like he was asking a question with his eyes first. My heart slammed against my ribs. This was it.

The first time.

His hand rested lightly on my waist, grounding me.

My lips parted slightly, unsure, nervous. But I didn't move back.

And just like that — soft, careful, sacred — his lips met mine.

Warm.

Tender.

Like a kiss that had waited its whole life to happen.

There was no tongue, no rush, no performance — just his mouth finding mine in the quietest, purest way.

His hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb stroking my skin like I was porcelain.

And I melted.

Everything around me faded — the scent of stew, the music in the background, even the hiccup that tried to sneak back in.

He pulled away slowly, like he was afraid of breaking the moment.

"You okay?" he asked, his forehead touching mine.

"I've never..." I whispered.

"I know," he said, smiling softly. "I could tell."

"Did I do it right?"

He chuckled, holding me tighter. "You kissed me like I'm yours. That's perfect."

I buried my face in his chest, smiling like a fool. "This day..."

"...Is only the beginning," he whispered.

And in that moment — with gravy on the counter, kisses on my lips, and my heart held like a treasure — I knew I'd remember this day for the rest of my life.

The plates were washed. The kitchen was spotless. But my heart? My heart was a mess.

We were now wrapped up on the couch in a grey fleece blanket that smelled like fabric softener and him — a warm, clean cologne that clung to his T-shirt and made me want to bury myself in his chest forever.

The lights were dim, the city humming quietly outside his apartment window. He'd let me choose the movie, and of course, I picked Everything, Everything. Because that's how he made me feel. Like I was everything. Like he was everything.

He sat close — so close I could feel the heat of his skin against mine. His arm was draped over my shoulder, and my legs were curled beneath me. Between us sat a plate with my favourite: Woolies strawberry cake. I fed us each bite, giggling every time the cream smudged on the corners of his lips.

"Don't act shy now," he said, licking it off slowly while his eyes held mine. "You started this."

But then... the movie faded in the background. And the silence turned real. Full of thoughts, of things unsaid.

He took the plate from my hands, placed it on the coffee table.

Then he turned fully toward me.

I looked up at him, and what I saw in his eyes made my breath hitch. There was something serious there. Soft. Vulnerable.

"Can I say something?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, heart starting to drum.

"I've been trying to keep it casual. Fun. Playful," he began, eyes on his fingers as he rubbed the edge of the blanket. "But the truth is... I've been falling for you, Sethu."

I swallowed hard. "Kat..."

"I'm serious," he said gently, looking up. "From the way you smile when you don't want to. To how you walk like you're unsure but your soul is brave. The way you speak isiZulu when you're annoyed. The way you say my name like it's yours to keep."

I was frozen, heart now crashing against my ribs.

He reached for my hand, lacing our fingers together.

"You've been messing with my focus. Making me think of things I never thought I'd want. Like coming home to someone. Like loving someone with no fear. Like being yours... if you'll have me."

Tears kissed the corners of my eyes. Real, full, breathless tears. "Katlego..."

He wiped one tear with his thumb and leaned closer.

"You don't have to say it back. I just needed you to know — I love you, Siphosethu Zulu. I love you."

I could barely breathe. All I could do was feel.

And then... we kissed.

But not like before.

This time, it was love.

His lips found mine like they'd been searching for home their whole life. There was no rush, just gentle pressure, like he was pouring everything into this one moment. His hand cupped my face, thumb stroking my cheek as our lips moved in sync, slow and deep, like a song you don't want to end.

He tasted like strawberries and warmth. Like safety. Like a promise sealed without words.

The kiss deepened — not in lust, but in longing. His other hand slid to my waist, pulling me just a little closer, like there was still space between us he couldn't bear.

I sighed into him.

He smiled against my lips, whispering, "You feel like mine."

I looked at him, eyes glossy. "I think I always have been."

We sat like that — kissing slowly between smiles, our foreheads pressed together, hearts tangled up in a fleece blanket — and the movie played on, forgotten.

Because in that moment, we were everything. Everything, everything.

The credits rolled on Everything, Everything, but neither of us moved.

He held me like I was the final puzzle piece in a picture he'd been trying to complete. And in that warm quiet, where the only sound was the soft buzz of the fridge and the slow thump of two hearts learning to beat in sync, I knew this moment would live in me forever.

Eventually, he kissed my forehead, then my hand.

"Let me take you home, love," he whispered, voice husky and low.

I didn't want to leave. But I nodded.

We stood up slowly, stretching limbs reluctant to break the spell. I helped him gather the leftover groceries. He opened a container and gently packed the extra strawberry cake we didn't finish, along with the chicken stew and rice we made earlier.

The drive home was soft.

His hand rested gently on my thigh, his thumb brushing lazy circles over my skin. The car was quiet, except for H.E.R's "Best Part" playing low in the background.

Every now and then, our eyes would meet — his filled with something warm and unspoken.

When we got to my res, he parked the car but didn't rush to unlock the doors.

He turned to me.

"You sure you don't wanna stay?" he teased, but his eyes were serious.

I bit my lip, leaned closer, and kissed his cheek.

"I'd never leave if I stayed tonight," I whispered.

He smiled — that slow, heart-melting smile that made my knees weak.

"I'll walk you in."

We got out, and he carried the small container of leftovers I had packed for myself — said it was symbolic, that he'd carry anything that reminded him of me.

At the door, I turned to him. Our bodies close again, that same magnetic pull tugging at us like a secret the night couldn't keep.

"You're making it hard to let go," I whispered.

His voice dropped, eyes locked on mine. "Then don't."

I stood on tiptoe and kissed him again. Soft. Grateful. Hopeful.

"I'll call you when I get in," I said.

He nodded, brushing his thumb across my jawline.

"I love you, Sethu."

My heart swelled like it knew this love before it began. "I love you too, Katlego."

And then he watched me go — standing outside the res gate like a man who'd found something he never knew he was missing.

As I closed the door behind me, I could still taste him in my smile.

Love had finally found me.

And it tasted like strawberry cake and everything I never knew I needed.