Mtu Kuzi

Today I walked into a room that smelled of roasted meat and old money
men sat around the table with faces carved in seriousness
planning where our savings would go

I was meant to listen
meant to join in the plotting
but then she appeared

the light found her before my eyes did
in that moment the conversation died

her smile
shifted the whole room
like furniture being dragged in the dark

we were talking business
but suddenly she was the business
my money knew where it wanted to go

she moved across the floor
slow deliberate
as if she had rehearsed this scene long before
and I was simply acting in her film

I waved at the waiter
told him to keep supplying
whatever she wanted
he did
then he returned with the bill
it sliced into me like the closing credits of a bad movie

later that night
a memory came back uninvited
a boy crouched in the dust
counting coins like they were prayers
his small hands trembling
afraid of losing a single cent
that boy was me
but he would not recognise the man I have become

days blurred into each other
my pockets lighter
my dreams heavier
my house silent
yet haunted
she was everywhere and nowhere
inside my head
inside my wallet
inside the pauses between my breaths

one evening I saw her again
not by plan
maybe fate had plans of its own
she walked into a building with a number on the door
a number I swear I had seen before
I followed

inside were flyers for an art show
none bore her name
I turned to leave
a man at the entrance handed me a paper
a list of debts
and there it was
my name

ink and dates and places I barely remembered
her presence was not coincidence
it was calculation

a flash of memory
me younger
a pen shaking in my hand
signing a paper without reading it
believing a promise someone else made
calling it a favour
not knowing it was a chain waiting in the dark

when I found her in the back
she did not run
she looked at me like I was the ghost
the one who had finally learned how to knock

she spoke of a brother
spoke of survival
spoke of promises tied to my name
the bills I paid were not hers alone
they were the price of a life still trying to breathe

she was not villain
she was message

I went home
opened a drawer
pulled out a photograph of the boy with coins
folded it carefully
then saw it
a faint number written in the corner
the same number on that door

it was there all along
a clue waiting to be noticed
a foreshadow I had lived with without seeing

this girl has eaten my mind
my money
almost my life

but maybe she only arrived to remind me
that ghosts are not always people
sometimes they are debts
sometimes they are choices
sometimes they are the echoes of our own careless hands

the film does not end here
the reel still turns
the lights never go out

the story continues 😂💥