Chapter 9: Back to Mpopoma

The morning I left for Mpopoma, I woke up to the smell of my aunt's lemon-scented floor polish and the warm hum of voices from the kitchen. It had been a long time since our house had felt that calm. Usually, everything about my life lately had felt too sharp—the words, the people, even the air.

My bags were already packed. Not that I had much to carry. Just a few outfits, my school notes, and the guilt that clung to every stitch of fabric I folded.

"Makanaka", my aunt called, peeking into my room. "Are you ready?"

I nodded slowly, faking a smile. She looked at me like she always did—full of quiet concern and a kind of sadness I didn't have the heart to explain.

"You've been so… off lately," she said, hesitating in the doorway. "We're not chasing you away; we thought maybe it's time you visited home. Maybe you just miss your parents."

I didn't correct her. I didn't say, No, it's not that. Because maybe I did miss them. Maybe I missed the version of myself I used to be when I was with them. Before this school. Before the gang. Before Bridget. Before King.

Maybe home would help me remember her.

Mpopoma was different.

It had always been loud and chaotic—kids running down dusty streets, car horns from every direction, and the smells of roasted maize, smoke, and engine oil colliding into a kind of strange comfort. But somehow, even the chaos felt like peace.

I hadn't even stepped out of the taxi when my mom came out of the gate, apron tied around her waist, flour dusting her cheek.

My aunt and uncle didn't drive me here; they said they don't like the part of Bulawayo. At least they hired a taxi.

"My baby girl!" She squealed.

I was sixteen, taller now, and worn down—but in her arms, I felt small again. Like maybe none of this mess had ever happened.

My dad followed, all jokes and hugs and calling me "city girl", like I hadn't come from two hours away, not another planet.

They asked about school. I told them what I could.

They didn't ask about anything else. Or Julia.

And I didn't offer.

That afternoon, I sat outside on a plastic chair, notebook on my lap, pretending to study. Really, I was just trying to slow my thoughts down.

But the streets wouldn't let me forget.

Girls passed in groups, laughing loudly. Boys on bikes raced past. Someone was playing music from a nearby house. All of it reminded me of a time when I still believed the world was simple.

And then—

"Mak?"

The voice.

Soft. Surprised.

Too familiar.

I turned, and my heart flipped.

Julia.

Standing by the corner tuck shop in a loose sweater and jeans. No blazer. No practised walks. No faking. Just Julia—raw, real, and in place just like me.

My mouth went dry. I knew the probability of meeting her was 80% but was still shocked.

She walked toward me slowly, like she wasn't sure she was welcome.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She blinked. "I live around you; you forgot."

We stood in silence for a long moment. The air between us was loaded—heavy with everything unsaid.

I expected her to accuse me.

I expected her to walk away.

Instead, she sat on the next chair.

"Your mom's cooking smells amazing," she said.

I let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah. It always does."

She smiled and said, "Yeah, I know."

More silence.

Then she looked at me, her expression unreadable.

"Did you do it?" she asked quietly. "Did you really set me up?" "Did you unbolt that chair?"

My breath hitched.

I didn't answer right away. My fingers dug into my notebook, pressing so hard the page tore.

"No," I finally said. "Not like you think."

Julia didn't look away. "So how was it?"

"It was survival," I said, eyes burning. "I was scared. I didn't know what to do. I thought… maybe if I just stayed and did what I was told to, things would fix themselves."

"They didn't", she said.

"I know."

She nodded slowly.

And then, to my shock, she said, "They are using you. Now everyone sees you as an easy target. That's how it works."

I stared at her. "You're not… angry?"

"Oh, I'm angry," she said, laughing bitterly. "I think about setting fire to all of them every single day. But I know what it's like to be cornered."

I blinked hard. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

The breeze passed between us. For a second, it felt like we were just two girls, kids again, childhood besties again. Not enemies. Not criminals. Just humans.

"Are you still with them?" she asked after a moment.

I shook my head. "No. But I think I'm still in their game."

She nodded again. "Do you ever want out?"

"All the time."

"Then maybe it's time we start playing back."

We didn't talk much more after that.

I was deep in thought. Is that even possible? I was really thinking hard.

But she stood up, gave me a soft smile, and said, "It was good to see you, Mak. Really." She smiled and added, "It's good you visited; they really missed you."

And I meant it when I said, "You too."

That night, as I helped my mom roll dough for dinner, I felt something I hadn't felt in weeks.

Hope.

It was small. Barely a flicker.

But it was there.

Because for the first time since all of this began, I realised I wasn't alone.

And maybe… just maybe… This game wasn't over.