Palesa didn't understand her oldest daughter's eagerness to work or why her sixteen-year-old wished to help as well the next day. They got ready; the tea finally reeled in people when her daughter suggested getting some ice in the afternoon.

This was one of the good things about street food business ventures; one could change the menu's lineup to accommodate the situation.

Palesa decided to serve the tea warm in the morning and cold in the afternoon.

Lars got up early, too, he thought of his coffee. No, he thought of her, the mysterious dancer. Steven didn't reassure Lars when he told him girls disappeared and were raped on the regular.

South Africa was beautiful, but it had a brutally ugly side that foreigners didn't wish to assimilate to the country known to be fun.

Lars hoped the other woman didn't lie when she said the barista was ill.

The barista.

Lars didn't even know her name. The man promised himself to ask her if ever he saw her again.

He got ready; it wasn't like he had something else to do. He didn't even need to check the stock exchange or visit the start-ups where he invested his money. Dalai did the necessary. Lars didn't feel guilty letting Dalai take care of everything as he paid him enough in commissions.

Steven did see the way his friend let Dalai do in a good eye. He asked Lars to keep an eye on his assets, but his words evaporated into thin air as usual.

Lars loved the idea of making money in his sleep. He wondered how he held all these years working for Jonas doing nine to five, ten to six, or eleven to X hours.

For the first time in his life, Lars had time.

Was this what Jonas spoke about? The infamous moment where one began could think about non-financial matters and lived.

It's usually the moment when one falls in love. Jonas's words rang like an alarm.

Could he fall in love?

Lars was in an odd type of mood as he left his house and drove to the truck. This time, there were a few more people, and the man felt his heart step up a beat as he approached the van and got in line. He wished people would hurry up with their orders. Lars put on his brightest smile when his turn came, "Haㅡi."

Wtf, the man screamed in his mind but managed to muster a measured, "Where is she?"

"She isn't here."

"I can see that," Lars blurted with all the annoyance he could conjure in his voice.

"Ehhh," Palesa crossed her arms.

"You said tomorrow."

"I said maybe."

Behind Palesa, her daughter's died a thousand deaths as they swooned over Lars. The man resembled all these unearthly handsome guys that writers depicted in books online. The girls clearly envisioned Lars as the man with a heart of ice which melted when he found true love.

Nolwozi nudged her sister, "I told you it was worth it."

"Oh my Gawd, I look a mess. He won't notice me."

"You're sixteen; I hope he doesn't. You could surely be his child."

Palesa turned slowly. Her stare roared with flames as she finally understood why her girls were so enthusiastic about helping her out.

"Eh, madam."

Palesa glared.

"Miss?" Lars tried, "I really would like my coffee. Do you have more information for me concerning her return?"

"Sir, we said she is sick. She will come when she's better."

Lars closed his eyes to calm his nerves and opened them, "okay, got it."

Again disappointment anointed his mind; he returned home. Once he arrived, he knocked off his sneakers and went to sit at the kitchen counter, where he spaced out.

Steven came to join him a little around 8 am, "so, where's the coffee?"

"She's sick, and there's no coffee."

Steven looked at his friend, who sat staring at all of Thulile's carton cups.

"Aren't you going to throw them?"

Lars lifted his stare to meet Steven's and returned them to his cups.

Gat-vol [Ghut-foll].

Sleep. Good morning.

They were his mementos. The messages gave Lars the impression someone cared about him, but no one did.

"Yeah," Lars got up, took the cups to the trash can, and threw them.

It was just coffee, yet the man felt something had or was on the verge of happening. Whatever the case, the coffee procured a form of well-being Lars never thought to find again.

Steven observed Lars for a few seconds before breaking the silence, "you seem disheartened."

"I was looking forward to drinking coffee more than I thought."

"Why didn't you go to other cafés?"

"Because that coffee isn't like any other. You felt it, didn't you? The other day when you drank yours, you tasted the difference."

Steven pushed up his glasses, "yeah, it was exceptional."

"The coffee this woman makes helps people somehow."

"What do you mean?" Steven said as he went to open the fridge and took out a milk bottle.

"The words she writes, they either help to solve things, predict events or state of mind ."

Steven chuckled, grabbed a bowl, cereals, and came to sit at the counter, " so you're telling me she's some sort of coffee fortune teller like those who read in teas cups."

Lars scratched his forehead, "I know it sounds farfetched. That's why I want to figure this out."

Steven nodded, "I didn't know you were into all that speculative stuff."

"Neither did I; it's all-new. I guess I'm just curious since the barista is the girl from the club."

"What? You should have started there, Lars. Things make sense now. Talk about the girl, not a coffee prediction."

"It's not about her."

"Come on, Lars, the whole house smells Christian Dior Bois brûlé. You shower at sunrise. Who are you kidding?"

"What, I always shower in the morning."

Steven almost spite the cereal and milk in his mouth, "pardon, you have a concise memory."

When depressed, Lars let himself wilt and shrivel. Nor shower or toothbrush crossed his path. The man would just let himself die and drink. Steven was surprised to see how Lars picked himself up and replaced the bad habits by working out.

Steven was aware of why Lars left Sweden, but his friend made sure to leave out the part about prison. Though Lars wasn't with the most hard-core inmates, the man had his fair share of trials.

To survive, Lars did what he knew best. No, he wasn't one of the bullies or victims. He was the worst, the rat, the one who told on others.

His sleepless nights weren't due to the horror scenes he lived but the guilt of betraying those around him.

When the going got tough, Lars thought of himself first and did anything to survive.

Some would say he was a coward, and others that human nature always finished by pushing one to fend for themselves.

Lars wore a mask so opaque it even fooled Thulile believed the storm in his stare diminished when reality, all they did was withdraw themselves for the time being.

The more life became sweet, the more Lars pretended he had a goal and knew where he was going.

Mirage.

Lars had never been more lost in his whole existence. Home seemed nowhere; he was without support and loveless. The chirpy Lars gave way to the pessimist.

"Lars, you know what? You should do this trek with me to switch up your ideas a little. How about it?"

During that time, Thulile prepared to leave the hospital. After a discussion with Julian, the man asked the doctors to discharge her.

Bills, debts, her gran's wheelchair, Thulile couldn't rest. Julian wished he could do more. If Thulile were his woman, things would be different. Intervening to help her wasn't difficult but would the woman accept?

Who was he to offer her such protection?

Julian prepared himself to be thrown by the woman the moment she discovered Elije's plans.

Finally, letting Thulile leave the hospital was positive. It reduced the risk of meeting Gisele to zero.

"You don't need to take us home, Julian. We'll take a taxi."

Thulile had never pretended to be anything else but herself. She never spoke about her life or education, and Julian discovered Thulile's background through the conversations he heard when he visited her.

Her parents were dead, and she took charge of her family while holding up against her violent brother. Julian wondered how Elije let her live such a life when he had the means to stop the infernal cycle.

The woman felt stripped and didn't wish for Julian to know more about her poor daily life. Thulile insisted, and Julian let her take a taxi.

So many thoughts bustled as the man held the door of the car for her. Julian wished he could tell her he didn't care about her background or anything else. He liked her for who and the way she was.

Instead, he unreleased unwarranted words, "Thulile, I think you need to know."

"Know what, Julian?"

She must know the truth.

"Eh, Elije was extremely worried about you. He's the one who asked me to take care of you."

"Julian."

Thulile tried to understand. Both Nandi and her gran attempted to drum in the idea the man liked her during her stay. It seemed they were wrong.

Julian smiled, "he loves you so much he wanted you to rest in the best room."

"Julian, I know the man. Elije didn't come because he doesn't want anyone to know he's dating a poor girl from the former township. I didn't want you to drive me home because I want to hold on to the little piece of dignity I have."

"Thulile."

Thulile shook her head, "I'm not a fool, Julian. I hang on to this distant utopia where I believe Elije marry me because if I don't, I'll die. Thank you, Julian. I appreciate what you did."

Thulile got in the taxi. Her grandmother sat quiet; the young woman let her ear the conversation purposely. Now her grandmother knew her truth. Like many women in the world, Thulile dreamt of escaping a life of suffering, and so she let herself believe in that Gawd damn Prince Charming tale.