"My parents help me out a lot."
Amahle shifted uncomfortably as Anika's question lingered in the air. It felt like an embarrassment laid bare for everyone to see. Still, it was the truth—no matter how bitter it sounded. She was in love now, deeply rooted in it, and there was no denying that.
"You're close to thirty, I guess," Anika continued sharply. "Why are you still living like a minor? And how can you take care of Amahle if you're married to her?"
Amahle cast her a look filled with disgust.
"Anika!" she snapped, scoffing as she pushed her plate slightly away from her.
"Thula wena (you, be quiet)! You have to use your brain to Amahle," Sandile cut in, interrupting Anita.
"But… but… I love your sister," Vuyo said softly, his voice almost pleading, his eyes wide like a helpless puppy.
"And you think just love is enough?" Anika shot back.
Silence fell heavily between them.
Amahle suddenly stood up, her chair scraping against the floor, and stormed out without another word.
"Buya lapha (come back here)!" Anika and Sandile called after her.
Amahle didn't turn back. The only sound that followed was the sharp slam of the door.
Vuyo stood there, stunned. Everything had happened too fast. Just moments ago, they had all been sitting together—her sisters meeting him for the very first time. Now, everything had fallen apart.
Without saying a word, he quietly stepped away, leaving Amahle behind on the balcony.
When she finally returned inside, she found her two sisters waiting. The tension was thick. Voices quickly rose as accusations flew across the table, their argument echoing through the house.
The truth was simple—Vuyo was broke.
He had been pretending, playing the role of a man who had it all, when in reality, he had nothing. Not even enough to give Amahle something as small as a gift—not once since the beginning of their relationship.
He often spoke about feeling empty and helpless, and Amahle had always been there, comforting him, believing things would change someday.
She loved him.
She loved the way he spoke, the way he made her feel… she didn't want to believe that love alone might not be enough.
His charming words always pulled her back, over and over again. It was all Amahle had ever wanted.
Months into their relationship turned into years, and slowly, the reality she had been avoiding began to unfold.
One rainy night, Vuyo showed up at her apartment, crying bitterly.
Amahle, startled out of sleep, rushed to the door. She quickly helped him carry his luggage inside, her heart already aching at the sight of him.
Vuyo cried so hard that he could barely speak. His lips trembled, words failing him as he struggled to explain what had happened.
Deeply moved, Amahle wrapped her arms around him, gently rubbing his back and planting soft kisses on his head, trying to comfort him.
Almost instantly, Vuyo realized his act was working.
He wiped his tears and began to speak, complaining about how his parents had thrown him out and how he had nowhere to go at that hour of the night.
Amahle, ever compassionate, listened closely, her heart softening even more as she absorbed every word.
Amahle felt pity for him and allowed him to start living in her apartment. She convinced herself it was only temporary—that maybe, with time, their bond would grow stronger, and everything would fall into place. Perhaps they would even end up getting married after all the years she had already committed to him.
But reality soon began to hit hard.
Vuyo started nagging—constantly and unnecessarily. He complained about the smallest things. Nothing ever seemed right to him. He criticized her cooking, the way she arranged the house, the state of the rooms, and even her appearance. The pimples on her face, her hair—nothing escaped his judgment.
It didn't stop there.
He even complained about the way she rested her head on his chest whenever they lay together.
Over time, things only got worse. Their home, once peaceful, became filled with tension and frequent quarrels. Money was being spent, yet nothing seemed to improve.
Amahle found herself confused and overwhelmed. She couldn't understand what was happening to the relationship she once believed in so deeply.
Then, on one fateful day, she lay quietly in the bathtub, surrounded by warm bubbles, lost in her thoughts—trying to make sense of everything.
Even when Vuyo wasn't around, his presence lingered in the apartment.
He had completely settled into Amahle's space, leaving his things scattered everywhere and expecting her to clean up after him. No matter how small the expense, he never contributed—not to the bills, not to anything.
Amahle carried the weight of everything. She handled all the expenses at home while juggling multiple jobs, including her freelance writing, working tirelessly just to keep things afloat.
Vuyo, on the other hand, did nothing.
He never once offered to help—not even in the simplest way. Even bringing her a meal while she worked on her PC seemed too much for him.
His constant nagging became unbearable, turning into a permanent part of his behavior. What once felt like love was now replaced with tension, arguments, and emotional strain.
Their home became a battlefield.
Uyo would shout, his voice filled with anger, hurling harsh words at his fiancée before storming off to the spare room, locking himself away to sleep.
Meanwhile, Amahle would be left behind, crying herself to sleep night after night.
She began to question everything—especially Vuyo emotional intelligence, which now seemed dangerously low.
Vuyo would wake up the next morning as if nothing had happened between them. His sudden calmness left Amahle confused and frustrated.
Sometimes, she found herself wondering if she was the problem—if maybe she had overreacted, if the constant arguments were somehow her fault.
But deep down, she knew she was hurt.
Despite everything, she still loved him. She still saw the man she had fallen for, and part of her held on to the hope that he would change someday—perhaps when he became a father.
That Saturday evening, Amahle returned home from her usual jobs, her body aching with exhaustion. Every step felt heavy as she made her way into the apartment.
She pushed the door open slowly, dragging herself toward the bedroom. All she wanted was to collapse onto the bed and steal a few moments of rest before evening fully set in.
Dinner still needed to be prepared.
And she knew—it was almost time for Vuyo to eat.
She ended her day exhausted, her body heavy as she dropped onto the bed.
Beside her, Vuyo lay fast asleep, snoring softly, completely unaware of the weight she carried. The deep sleep he was lost in made everything feel even more one-sided.
As Amahle settled into the bed, he stirred, stretching and yawning.
"Hey, beauty," he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep as he leaned closer, his breath brushing against her face.
Amahle turned away.
"What is it?" he asked.
"You didn't greet your future husband?" he teased, placing a hand on her waist.
"I'm tired… just let me be," she muttered, gently pushing him away.
There was a brief silence.
" Amahle, I'm sorry," he said softly, his tone shifting. "From the depth of my heart, I'm truly sorry. I know I've been a thorn in your flesh lately."
She said nothing.
"I'm frustrated… and depressed," he continued. "We're both trying to deal with financial stress. Amahle, my love… please, don't take my actions to heart."
Amahle lay still, listening—but not responding.
"If you're broke, then go and work. Go and find a job," Amahle said firmly.
"Ngibheke… nami ngifuna ukusebenza, kodwa wena…" she continued, her voice sharp with frustration.
("Look at me… today I had fifty thousand rand in my hands. I hustle hard—you should hustle too. But you stay at home… you're jobless.")
Amahle folded her arms, glaring at him.
Vuyo's eyes widened slightly at the mention of the money.
Then, just as quickly, his expression softened.
"Wow… you're such a blessed woman," he said gently, reaching for her hand and holding it in his. "Any man would be lucky to have you… mmm."
Amahle stared into his eyes, her anger slowly wavering.
"I'm really sorry," he continued, his voice low and sincere. "I want to change. I want to do better. I also want us to get married, Amahle. I can't live without you—you know that."
He looked at her with those familiar puppy-dog eyes.
And just like that, Amahle felt it again—the soft flutter in her chest, butterflies rising in her stomach despite everything.
"Vuyo, there's no money… how are we supposed to start planning a wedding?" Amahle asked, her voice filled with worry.
"Exactly," Uyo replied quickly. "Time waits for no one. We need to act fast. Your sisters need to see that we're truly meant for each other."
Amahle nodded slowly, though her thoughts were spinning in confusion.
"Yeah… but—"
"Money can't stop our love," he cut in. "We can take a loan, can't we?"Amahle said.
"Come on, Amahle," he continued, his tone shifting slightly. "I've seen your savings… through your bank card. You're a wealthy woman, after all. Stop acting like this."
She froze, caught off guard.
"I want to start a business, Uyo," she said firmly. "I didn't budget my money for a wedding."
Uyo's expression hardened.
"Then choose," he said coldly. "Your business… or our marriage. Choose wisely, Amahle."
Her heart skipped.
"Prove to me that you still love me," he added. "Once we're married, I'll get a well-paying job. Everything will be fine."
Amahle stood there, speechless, confusion and doubt crashing over her all at once.
Time seemed to stand still.
Had she really chosen Vuyo?
Yes… she had.
But at what cost?
Would she really use her hard-earned savings to organize a wedding for a man who had nothing—and no clear future?
She loved Uyo… or at least, she believed she did.
He had promised to change, to get a job after the wedding. He had made it sound so certain, so easy.
Amahle couldn't bring herself to tell her sisters about the plan. She knew what their reaction would be. If they had any say in it, they would tear the idea apart without hesitation.