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ZIMKITHA SIBEKO

The way Siphosakhe was holding my hand , firm, warm, steady , like he was making sure the world didn't swallow me the second I stepped out of the car. His thumb brushed over my skin once, slow and unintentional, but enough to make me glance at him. He didn't look back, just tightened his hold slightly, as if he knew I was watching him and he didn't want me to let go.

That small gesture alone made my heart thump against my ribs.

Then I lifted my eyes… and finally saw the house again .