Where do broken hearts go?

Chama braced herself for the long journey ahead. The night was dark and windy, with a storm brewing on the horizon. Determined to press on, she prepared to face the strengthening downpour. Mulenga had shattered her heart, and the sting was compounded by his call that night, his voice tinged with concern as he asked, “Are you alright?”

How did he expect her to respond after their breakup two weeks ago? She had been waiting for him in the restaurant, her heart racing with the hope that his call meant a proposal was imminent. Instead, he arrived looking nervous, sitting down without the usual hug or kiss.

She had thought he was just shy, perhaps overwhelmed by their first night together. Mulenga had been her first, and after their intimate night, she had barely looked at him the next morning. That night, as they lay together, she had whispered in his ear, “I want to kiss you,” her voice barely more than a breath.

He turned to her, eyes shimmering with a mix of curiosity and desire, and then he nodded, giving her permission without a single word. The kisses had been soft at first, a gentle exploration of his skin. With each touch of her lips, the world around them seemed to dissolve, leaving only the sweetness of the moment and the warmth of his breath mingling with hers.

With a tender touch, she let her lips graze his skin. The first kiss was soft, barely a whisper against his cheek. She felt the warmth of his breath mingle with hers. The second kiss was more deliberate, lingering a moment longer. She could sense the flutter of his pulse beneath her lips, and it made her heart race.

Chama thought she should stop at four, but with each kiss, the world around them seemed to dissolve a little more. Her senses were consumed by the sweetness of his skin, the softness of his encouraging touch. His lips found their rhythm against hers, and time seemed to unravel. Chama lost count, lost reason, lost the very essence of seconds and minutes.

As she continued, the sun dipped lower toward the horizon, casting golden hues across the sky. The birds flitted gracefully towards the fading light, their silhouettes dancing against the backdrop of the sea. The crickets began their evening chorus, their sounds blending into the symphony of their closeness.

The sky blushed with the colours of twilight, and the sea whispered gently as if enchanted by their embrace. In that suspended moment, it felt as if the world had come to a standstill, leaving only their shared intimacy—the sweetness of each kiss, the magic of the fading light, and the love that seemed to weave them together. The backdrop of the world, with its muted hues and gentle whispers, seemed to witness their sensual dance, cocooning them in a bubble of passion and desire.

But that bubble burst when Mulenga sat next to her, his posture rigid and uncomfortable. Her heart fluttered with anticipation, hoping for a tender touch or a kiss that would reaffirm their connection. Instead, she leaned closer and asked in an alluring tone, “Babe, is there no hug or kiss for me?”

She tried to gauge his mood—was he uncomfortable being with her or merely hiding a surprise? His response, however, was anything but what she had hoped for. “I’m in love with somebody else,” he said, each word like a dagger to her heart.

The revelation sent her world spiralling into chaos. The dream of a future with him shattered in an instant. Without another word, she fled the restaurant, her steps driven by a mix of disbelief and heartbreak. The distance to her apartment seemed to stretch endlessly as she walked, the 10 kilometres becoming a blur of pain and despair. She didn't look back.

Tonight, she was wrapped in her yellow floral dress and barefoot, she trudged through the gentle raindrops, desperately seeking anything to numb the ache and the lump lodged in her throat. As the wind picked up and the raindrops grew heavier, she braced herself against the intensifying storm. Soaked to the bone, she felt as though she were simply under a cold shower, though the reality was far more intense.

She gazed up at the trees, illuminated by lightning that danced with thunder beneath a thick blanket of clouds. In her state of emotional tumult, she marvelled at the sight of the trees swaying wildly with the wind. "Oh, how romantic," she shouted, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "The trees are dancing to the passion of the storm."

Her laughter quickly turned into uncontrollable tears, mingling with the rain pouring from the sky. She walked across the small wooden bridge, now partially submerged, the water rushing beneath it in a relentless current. The storm mirrored the turmoil within her, a fierce and unyielding reminder of her heartbreak.

Chama wondered how it would feel to fly. For a moment, as she stood on the bridge, she entertained the thought of leaping into the stormy abyss below. The idea, though fatal, seemed to offer a release from her overwhelming pain. The torrential rain felt like the universe itself was weeping alongside her, each drop a testament to her sorrow. The air was saturated with her mournful cries, blending seamlessly with the rhythmic pitter-patter of raindrops.

Her body shook uncontrollably with sobs, her face etched with anguish, eyes red and swollen from relentless tears. She struggled to breathe, hiccuping sporadically between her sobs. The rain, unyielding and cold, offered no reprieve. Desperate for solace, Chama clung to the trunk of the nearest mango tree. She curled up amid its sprawling roots, seeking refuge from the storm that raged both within her and around her.

As she huddled against the tree, she felt every sensation acutely—the biting cold, the persistent rain, and the depth of her emotional torment. The thunder’s roar intensified her fear, making her huddle tighter as if she could disappear from the world’s gaze. Each crack of thunder seemed to echo Mulenga’s harsh words, jolting her mind and leaving her disoriented, eyes darting around in a frantic attempt to make sense of the turmoil.

After what felt like an eternity, Chama's thoughts began to crystallize. She came to a poignant realization: ending her life would inflict profound pain on those she loved, particularly her family. The idea of leaping from the bridge, once so tempting, now seemed fundamentally wrong. In a moment of clarity, she recalled the promise she had made at her younger brother’s grave: “I promise to live a full life and tell you about it when I see you again.” Her ten-year-old self had spoken those words with a sincerity beyond her understanding of death.

Guided by this memory, Chama resolved against the act of self-destruction. As the storm began to abate, she retraced her steps through the diminishing rain towards her solitary apartment. Although she felt uncertain about how to honour her vow and confront the uncertain future, she was ready to face it with the resolve to keep the promise she had made.

The next morning, Chomba, Chama’s sister, rang the doorbell urgently. Having heard about the breakup with Mulenga, she was concerned about Chama's well-being.

When Chama answered the door, she greeted Chomba with a bright smile, her hair and makeup perfectly done. Without saying much, Chama quickly stepped outside and closed the door behind her, leaving Chomba standing on the doorstep, puzzled and worried.

“Are you okay?” Chomba asked, her concern evident as she glanced at Chama. “I heard about the breakup.”

“Oh, that? I’m perfectly fine,” Chama replied with a forced cheerfulness, smoothing down her red dress and adjusting the straps on her heels. “I’m ready! Let’s go have lunch at Mimi’s.”

Chomba hesitated. “Are you sure you want to be in a noisy restaurant right after your breakup?”

“What? Do you think I’m depressed?” Chama’s smile faltered slightly, revealing a hint of sadness.

“It’s odd that you ask that. Are you depressed? Would you like to talk to someone about it?” Chomba asked gently.

Chama laughed, her tone dismissive. “I’m African. We don’t get depressed. We don’t even have a word for ‘depression’ in Bemba.” She twirled in her red dress and added with forced enthusiasm, “Now let’s go! I’m hungry and want some village chicken for lunch.”

Chomba gave a small, uncertain smile. "I'll need to use your bathroom first."

"Okay, the keys are in the door," Chama called as she hurried down the stairs to the car, eager to shift her focus away from the lingering pain of the breakup.

Chomba stepped into Chama’s house and immediately noticed the pristine state of the kitchen and living room. The cleanliness felt almost clinical, a stark contrast to what she found when she entered Chama’s bedroom. The room was shrouded in darkness, the curtains tightly drawn. Clothes were strewn haphazardly on one side of the room, and beddings were crumpled in a disordered heap on the bed. Scattered around were numerous crumpled pieces of paper.

Curious, Chomba picked up one of the papers and recognized Chama’s handwriting. She turned on the bed lamp, sat on the edge of the bed, and began to read the note aloud:

“Where do broken hearts go? Broken hearts seem to go nowhere. They linger in the shadows, watching darkness as if it were the first glimpse of dawn. They absorb silence as though it were a love song, evoking the soulful melodies of Lauryn Hill. Their cries are muted beneath window panes and their thoughts cast dark, restless shapes reminiscent of moths waiting for the day to come and their lives to end. They swallow their tears as though downing sea water on a scorching day, their pain almost palpable. Clutching their chests in agony, they stifle their screams, silently pleading for someone, anyone, to help them.”