There she stood, framed by the restless ocean and a sky beginning to soften into amber. Her short yellow dress gathered the evening breeze like a sail, its hem rising and falling with effortless rhythm.
Loose strands of hair drifted across her face before she tucked them behind her ear with the absent-minded grace of someone completely unaware she was being watched.
Themba forgot to breathe.
Something about her made the world around her quieter. The crashing waves became distant. The laughter on the beach dissolved into the wind. Even time seemed to loosen its grip for a moment.
A smile found him before the words did.
“If I had three lives,” he murmured under his breath, unable to take his eyes off her, “I’d marry her in two… and in the third, I’d become a writer just to immortalize her in ink.”
He chuckled softly at himself.
“Easy there, Themba.”
Zuri had come to the coast for a brief, much-needed escape. Life hadn’t been kind lately. A recent breakup, a health scare, and a job loss had left her searching for silence and much needed rest.
As she walked the shoreline, The wind refused to leave her alone. It kept stealing strands of her hair and sweeping them across her face. Every few moments, she’d lift a hand and tuck them gently behind her ear, only for the breeze to undo her work again.
She never seemed annoyed.
If anything, it made her seem even more beautiful.
He couldn't stop staring.
She was the kind of beauty that made your stomach knot, not out of lust, but awe. He needed to speak to her. Tell her something. Anything. But what could he say?
The sun dipped below the horizon. Darkness crept in like a soft tide. A ship horn echoed through the evening, and she paused to watch it pass, as if the captain too had seen what he saw in her.
Then she dropped something.
Thank God!
He had been frozen, overthinking every word, but now, now he had a reason. He leapt to his feet, waving like a man trying to flag down the last chance he’d ever get. “Excuse me!” he called, his voice swallowed by the wind and the relentless crash of the waves. She never turned. White earbuds rested in her ears, and she moved to the steady pulse of music, her head swaying ever so slightly with each step. Later, he’d learn it was techno.
In that moment, it simply meant she couldn’t hear him. The sand made running awkward. Still, she was only a few meters ahead, heading toward the makeshift gate that led to her hotel. He couldn’t let her disappear. “Excuse me, miss!” he called out, breathless. “Excuse me!”
He caught up with her and gently tapped her shoulder. She turned. Time seemed to pause. The fading sunlight rested softly on her face, her amber eyes catching the last glow of the evening. Up close, she wasn’t just beautiful. She was breathtaking, the kind of beauty that quietly stole every rehearsed word from a man’s mouth.
“Wow…” escaped him before he could stop it.
Heat rushed to his face. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “That wasn’t what I meant to say.”
He held out the small object with an awkward smile.
“You dropped this.”
She looked down and smiled softly.
“Oh, thanks.
That’s my hunky,” she said, reaching out to take it.
And just like that, she turned and walked away, slowly into the small makeshift gates.
Themba stood rooted to the spot as she followed the narrow stone path leading back to her hotel. It wound gently through a small grove of palms and sea almond trees, their leaves whispering in the evening breeze.
Warm lanterns had just begun to glow along the walkway, painting soft pools of amber light on the ground. Lining the path were a collection of hand-carved animal statues.
A lion stood proudly near the entrance, its expression far more confused than majestic. A monkey perched on a weathered stump, one arm noticeably longer than the other, as though the sculptor had received an urgent phone call halfway through the job and simply decided,Good enough.
Themba couldn’t help but smile. Even the elephant looked as though it had given up on being an elephant somewhere around the ears. She wandered past them without a second glance, disappearing deeper beneath the canopy until the yellow of her dress became little more than a flicker between the trees.
And then she was gone.
The path remained. The lanterns glowed. The waves continued their endless conversation with the shore. Themba reached instinctively for his lighter before stopping halfway. “Damn,” he muttered, shaking his head with a whispered laugh.
“I should’ve asked for her number.”
Picture Themba for a moment.
He wasn’t the sort of man who turned heads when he walked into a room. At five foot five, his lean frame often disappeared into a crowd. Years of cigarettes and whiskey had left a faint tremor in his hands, a habit he joked about but never truly escaped. An eye patch rested comfortably over his left eye, the lasting souvenir of an accident that should have claimed far more than his sight.
His smile was imperfect, marked by teeth that had never lined up the way nature intended. His younger sister delighted in reminding him of that.
“You know,” she’d often tease, “God spent all your good looks making your personality.”
Themba would laugh, because arguing with her was pointless. Perhaps she was right.He had long stopped trying to impress anyone.
Yet, as he watched the woman in the yellow dress standing by the sea, something deep within him shifted. A quiet part of himself, buried beneath years of routine, disappointment, and carefully managed expectations, stirred awake.
For the first time in a very long while…
He wanted someone to notice him.
Almost absentmindedly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. One slow drag became another. Then another.
He still stood there long after she was gone, smoke curling lazily into the evening air. People drifted past him in both directions, laughing, chatting, returning to their hotels. Somewhere nearby, a child squealed with delight. A waiter folded away beach umbrellas one by one.
Themba noticed none of it.
His eyes never left the place where she’d vanished, as though she might suddenly reappear and prove the last few minutes hadn’t been imagined.
He had no idea how long he’d been standing there. Something nudged gently against his foot.
He looked down.
A makeshift football rested in the sand, its heart fashioned from tightly crumpled newspapers, wrapped layer upon layer with strips of old plastic bags and bound together with sun-dried sisal rope until it formed a surprisingly perfect sphere. It was the kind of ball small children had mastered the art of making, born not from scarcity alone but from endless imagination. Funny enough, boys their age often preferred them to store-bought footballs. They bounced unpredictably, survived almost anything, and if one finally fell apart, another could be built before sunset.
“Pole Boss! Pass, Ball!” one of the boys shouted from farther down the beach.
A handful of older teenagers had claimed the stretch of sand now that the tourists were drifting back to their hotels. Barefoot and laughing, they chased the little handmade ball with the kind of joy that never cared about brands or price tags. Their goalposts were two pairs of abandoned flip-flops buried halfway into the sand.
Themba smiled to himself.
He flicked the ball into the air with the side of his foot and sent it sailing back with a gentle volley.
“Niiice!” one of them shouted as another trapped it effortlessly on his chest before the game burst back into life.
The beach was growing quieter now. Vendors folded away their umbrellas, couples wandered hand in hand toward the hotels, and the last streaks of orange faded from the sky. Themba walked back to where he’d been sitting. His paperback still lay untouched beside a half-empty bottle of water, both dusted with a fine layer of sand. He slipped them into his backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and cast one last glance toward the winding path where Zuri had disappeared.
“Tomorrow,” he whispered, though he couldn’t tell whether it was a promise or a prayer. Then he turned and made his way back to his room, the rhythm of the waves following him long after the beach had slipped out of sight.
He’d barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he found himself back on the beach, watching a woman in a yellow dress disappear beneath a canopy of palms.
“Room service,” a cheerful voice called from the hallway.
“Coming,” he muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
A young attendant wheeled in a housekeeping cart and got straight to work. Fresh linen replaced the crumpled sheets, towels were neatly folded into impossible shapes, and the scent of citrus polish slowly replaced the lingering smell of cigarette smoke. The windows were thrown open, inviting the morning sea breeze to sweep through the room, carrying with it the distant rhythm of crashing waves.
Themba had already turned the small desk into a battlefield. Files lay scattered across its surface, reports overlapped one another, and loose sheets of paper spilled onto the chair and carpet. His laptop sat open beside a half-finished cup of coffee that had long since gone cold.
“No, Judge Gad, that’s exactly my point,” he said, balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear as he sifted through another stack of documents. “The sequence of events matters. If we don’t establish the timeline first, everything else falls apart.”
He paused, listening.
“No… no, I’m not disagreeing,” he replied, softening his tone. “I’m saying we need to present it differently. Give me a minute.”
He found the page he was looking for and slid it free from the pile. “There it is. Page 341. That’s the one.”
The attendant moved through the room with the quiet precision of someone who had done it a thousand times. She gathered the crumpled towels, smoothed the creases from the bed until it looked untouched, and dusted every surface with swift, practiced strokes. A soft citrus polish lingered in the air as she buffed the wooden furniture to a warm sheen, catching ribbons of sunlight spilling through the balcony doors.
She replaced the complimentary bottles of water, straightened the curtains, and aligned the chairs with almost mathematical precision. The only thing she dared not disturb was the battlefield spread across Themba’s desk.
Reports overlapped one another in untidy stacks. Loose pages covered the tabletop, others had escaped onto the floor, and sticky notes clung to folders like forgotten reminders. Every now and then she glanced at the paper storm, smiled to herself, and quietly dusted around it before moving on.
By the time she finished, the room looked as though it belonged in a luxury travel brochure.
Only Themba’s corner still looked lived in.
The meeting stretched well into the afternoon. By the time the last file had been closed and the final call ended, Themba leaned back in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes.
His gaze drifted to the window. Beyond it, the ocean shimmered beneath the afternoon sun.Almost without thinking, he glanced at his watch.
She’ll be there.
Within minutes, he had changed into a fresh shirt, slipped his notebook into his backpack, and headed for the beach. He returned to the same spot, armed with a plan, every line rehearsed like a soldier preparing for inspection. He had even cut back on the cigarettes that afternoon, convincing himself he’d think more clearly without them.
This time, he was ready.
He waited.
Then he waited some more.
The mint in his mouth had long since surrendered its flavor. He chewed it anyway, more out of habit than hope, before finally tossing it into the bin beside his chair.
One cup of coffee became two.
Two cups became half a glass of whiskey.
Every few minutes his eyes drifted to the same winding path between the trees.
That’s her…
It wasn’t.
Another figure appeared.
No… this one.
An elderly woman.
A young couple.
A family with children.
Another woman in a yellow dress.
His heart lurched.
Wrong woman.
Each time someone emerged from the trees, hope sprinted ahead of reason, only to return moments later, slower than before.
Around him, the beach carried on as though it had no idea someone’s entire day depended on a single person walking down a path.
The afternoon sun softened into gold. Waiters lit lanterns one by one. The chatter grew quieter as tables emptied and guests wandered back to their rooms.
Still…
No Zuri.
By now, the whiskey had grown warm in his hand.
Maybe she left early.
Maybe she isn’t coming today.
Maybe yesterday was all it was ever meant to be.
The sky darkened.
His hope withered.
Did I lose my chance?
“Ten more minutes,” he whispered to himself.
He sighed and began packing his things, brushing the sand from his shorts.
Then he heard it.
A laugh.
Light.
Gentle.
Unmistakable.
It was her.
She walked barefoot, lifting sand with her toes, giggling softly as she spoke on the phone. Joy bloomed in him like spring after a brutal winter. He hadn’t felt this in years not since Tara.
Tara had been his anchor, his best friend. She chose him despite everything, his addictions, his scars. She hated the smoking, though. He tried quitting, but never managed. Still, he’d step out to the balcony, shut the door tight, anything to make her comfortable. They had met by accident, literally at a bus stop. He stepped on her shoe. And somehow, that clumsy moment became the start of something beautiful.
But he’d forgotten to take care of himself, since Tara left. He looked abit older now. Rusted.
There she was.
The woman he’d spent an entire day waiting for.
Somewhere between his chair and the path, every carefully rehearsed sentence abandoned him.
So much for the plan.
He’d spent hours composing the perfect opening. Refined it. Rearranged it. Even rehearsed it under his breath while pretending to sip coffee.
Now his mind was as blank as an unwritten page.
Interesting, he thought. I’d negotiated million-shilling deals without breaking a sweat. I’d stood before boardrooms full of strangers and spoken with absolute confidence.
Yet here he was, completely defeated by one woman.
He almost laughed.
So much for being confident.
Taking a quiet breath, he walked toward her before courage could change its mind.
“Hello again, miss,” he said, hoping his voice sounded steadier than he felt.
She looked up from her phone and slipped it into her pocket.
A smile spread across her face.
“It’s you again,” she said, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“Guilty,” Themba admitted with a sheepish grin. “Sorry to be a bother. I hope you had a good day?”
“I did, actually. Just wrapped up my last meeting. Wanted to catch the last ship out.”
“Interesting. The last ship? You planning to become a sailor?” he joked, easing into a smile.
She laughed. “No, I’m just fascinated by how those massive things float. It doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s all science,” he said, then quickly added, “but I like your theory better.”
“I thought you’d left,” she said. “Didn’t expect to see you again.”
“I was hoping to see you,” he admitted.
She tilted her head, teasing. “Have you been watching me? Should I be worried?”
Themba chuckled nervously. “No no. Just… hoping for another chance.”
What she didn’t say was that this year had broken her in quiet ways. Her longest relationship gone. Her job gone. And the heart condition scare? A false alarm, thank God, but still it made her question everything. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for anymore.
But here he was. Honest. Awkward. Kind.
Themba scratched the back of his neck, unsure whether to laugh or retreat. “I guess I just didn’t want to let the universe decide everything.”
Zuri raised an eyebrow. “And what did you hope the universe would do?”
“Bring you back,” he said, almost too quietly. He met her gaze, then looked down, kicking at the sand with his foot.
For a moment, the only sound was the sea steady, endless. Then she smiled, not mockingly, but with a softness that surprised them both.
“I don’t usually do this,” she said, reaching into her bag. “But since the universe apparently listens to you…” She took a paper and wrote down her number, her name,and a line script at the bottom: Let the sea decide....
Themba took it like it might vanish. “You’re serious?”
Zuri nodded. “One conversation. One coffee. You don’t have to sell me anything.”
He laughed. “No sales pitch. I’m terrible at those anyway.”
“And Themba?”
“Yeah?”
“You should quit smoking.”
He smirked, holding the paper like a treasure. “I’m thinking about it.”
As she turned to leave, the wind picked up again, tugging at her pink dress, it was pink this time, tossing her hair around her face. This time, she didn’t brush it away.
Themba sat back down in the sand, staring out at the horizon, the waves whispering stories only he could hear. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t light a cigarette.
He just breathed.
The sun had dipped below the waterline now, leaving behind only streaks of violet in the sky. A strange calm settled over him hopeful, unfamiliar.
Tomorrow, he would be gone.
They both would.
His room was already half-packed. His flight ticket sat folded in his jacket pocket, tucked between a crumpled receipt and a near-empty packet of gum. This was supposed to be a retreat, a short escape from a life that had felt too heavy to carry. He never expected anyone to lighten it let alone someone like her.
Zuri was checking out the next morning too, heading back home to visit her sister. “Just for a while,” she’d said. “Time to regroup.”
And yet…
Something had changed.
Somewhere between yesterday’s awkward hello and tonight’s lingering conversation, the walls he had spent years quietly building no longer felt quite as high.
She had looked at him without hesitation. Not at the patch over his eye. Not at the tremor that sometimes found his hands. Not at the years etched into the man he had become.
She had simply looked at him.
And in return, he hadn’t seen a woman defined by the weight she carried. He had seen someone choosing, despite everything, to keep walking toward tomorrow.
That was enough.
More than enough.
Earlier, he hadn’t asked for her number. Perhaps fear had spoken louder than hope. Tonight, hope finally found its voice.
Themba rose, brushed the sand from his Crocs, slipped them into his bag, and started the slow walk back toward the hotel.
Before climbing the stairs, he stopped.
Beyond the swaying palms, the second floor glowed with scattered lights. Somewhere behind one of those windows was a woman in a yellow dress who had unknowingly rewritten an ordinary day.
He stood there for a moment, smiling at nothing anyone else could see.
Tomorrow, they would leave.
Whether their paths crossed again, he didn’t know.
But the sea had given each of them something they hadn’t arrived with.
A reason to believe that even hearts weathered by disappointment could still recognize one another.
Themba looked up once more.
“Tomorrow,” he whispered.
This time, it wasn’t a prayer.