Khaya And Thando Chapter 1:Smoke signals

 Chapter One: Smoke Signals

The heat of the summer Sunday weighed heavily on the streets, the sun casting golden light over the cracked asphalt. He pushed open the creaky door of the tuck shop, the faint jingle of the bell barely audible over the hum of the store fan. He wasn’t looking for much—just a pack of cigarettes to help pass the slow crawl of the day.

As he approached the counter, he saw her. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was arresting. Her presence seemed to hold a magnetic pull, like the world itself had tilted slightly to center her in his line of sight. She stood by a shelf of snacks, her laughter ringing out, light and effortless, as she chatted with her friends.

He almost forgot why he was there until the shopkeeper cleared his throat. Mumbling his order, he handed over a few bills and grabbed the pack. As he turned to leave, he caught her eye, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them.

“Those things kill. Why would you buy that?” she said, her voice teasing but laced with genuine curiosity.

He chuckled, pulling a cigarette from the pack and lighting it with a practiced ease. “We’re all dying, champ. Look around. Smoking just kills slowly, right? And believe me, I’m not in a rush.”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. “Alright then, “champ”. I’ll attend your funeral one day, and right before the priest sends you off with his last prayers, I’ll say, ‘I told you so.’”

That caught him off guard. He froze mid-drag, lowering the cigarette as he stared at her. Her boldness, her wit—it intrigued him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So,” he began, a slow grin spreading across his face, “you wanna come to my funeral? Listen to eulogies about who I’ve been and some short obituary about my life? All because you met me in a shop before I bought a cigarette?”

She met his gaze, her eyes sparkling with something he couldn’t quite place. “I said I’d come just to say, ‘I told you so.’ But if it means I’ll get to hear all that, why not?”

For a moment, the air between them thickened. He couldn’t tell if it was the heat or the intensity of her presence, but he suddenly felt like this conversation was more important than it had any right to be.

“Now I’m curious,” he said, his voice dipping lower. “How do you think the eulogy will sound? Who do you think would give it? What would they say?”

She shrugged, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I don’t know. Probably someone who barely knows you. Just to pass the time, they’ll say something flattering. Maybe something poetic.”

The shopkeeper, who had been eavesdropping shamelessly, let out a snort, but neither of them noticed. They were locked in their own world, the rest of the shop fading into the background.

“Well,” he said, smirking, “I’ve decided you’re not invited to my funeral. It seems like you’d be the worst guest.”

They both laughed, the sound light and easy, cutting through the heavy heat of the day.

“So, there’s a guest list?” she teased.

“There could be,” he said. “We’re talking about the end, but this feels so much like a beginning.”

Her eyes softened, but she quickly masked it with mock exasperation. “Well, Mr. Cigarette, I’ll see you around. Since you’re starting to see things, maybe that cigarette is working wonders. But watch how you live—those things kill, you know. It even says so on the pack. Or are you too ignorant to read?”

She turned toward the door, her friends calling her name. He felt a pang of something—longing?—as he watched her walk away, her laugh trailing behind her like a melody. Just before she stepped out, he called after her.

“Hey, champ! Hope this isn’t the last time I see you. You know, because when I’m dead, I really won’t see you. And that’d be a bad way to go.”

She paused, glancing back over her shoulder with a grin. “Watch how you’re living, first. Maybe you’ll live longer.”

And then she was gone, the sound of her laughter drifting down the street. He turned to the shopkeeper, his voice low and urgent. “Who is she?”

The older man grinned knowingly, leaning on the counter. “That’s the church girl. That’s what we call her.”

He nodded, the name rolling around in his mind like a puzzle he wanted to solve. Church girl. The irony wasn’t lost on him. She had felt like salvation wrapped in sarcasm.

And just like that, the cigarette in his hand didn’t seem so satisfying anymore.