Ozon?u Chronicles Part 1: Why We Shouldn’t Cry Over Situationships

We barely even spent time together.

Our whole story could fit in three weeks, maybe less. But eish, those three weeks felt like months. We were moving fast, like life finally decided to give us a break from the rough Mjolo streets. Then, when it all came tumbling down, both of us were left fuming, hurt, confused, broken to pieces.

And get this...

We never even had sex.

His name was Shanika.

Tall, smooth, the kind of guy who speaks slowly, like his words are worth listening to. That soft-spoken confidence, you know? The one that says: “I’ve done therapy, but only enough to sound healed.”

We’d known each other from way back, like a whole decade back. Then out of nowhere, he popped up in my DMs: “You’re glowing, hey? I see you’re living soft now.”

And just like that, I was a goner.

One message turned into daily check-ins, good mornings, long voice notes. Nights filled with shared playlists, memes and stories that made us feel like maybe, just maybe, this was something real.

The first time we met up again was at Jokers.

He joked, “You’re Herero, hey? Your people don’t like Wambo guys like me.”

We laughed, but deep down, he looked like he meant it... and I hoped he did.

That night felt easy. Effortless. Like something that had been waiting to happen.

He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time, and maybe he was.

After that, we were in each other’s space all the time. Talking deep-deep, holding hands in public without calling it that. He’d say, “I feel safe with you,” and I’d melt because, shame, someone like me always wants to be the soft place someone lands.

Then one night, he stayed over.

We watched Netflix, talked nonsense, and fell asleep holding hands – nothing more. Just warmth and trust.

At one point, he turned to me and said: “I don’t want to rush into sex, you know. I want it to be something we align into... not something we do just because we’re horny.”

My heart melted.

He wasn’t like other guys, I thought.

That night, I slept easy. Maybe too easy. Because part of me started believing we were building something sacred.

But not long after that, everything started shifting.

He texted one evening, said he was “in my area”, and asked if he could pop in. Usually, this would annoy me, but in this case, I said yes because, duh, I was already in too deep to say no.

I made us drinks. We had tea because apparently we’re trying this adulting thing. I lit a candle, played mellow music. Then guess who showed up?

Nani.

Now, Nani is my guy friend, loud, funny, the type who never runs out of stories or beer. He says he loves me like a sister, but you can never really know with men, hey? Still, he’s fun to be around. Always the protector when we go out, and the first to call me stupid when I ask for dating advice.

“Some things are obvious,” he always says. “You just don’t want to see them, wena.”

That night, he arrived unannounced as he usually does, blasting amapiano, waving a six-pack, yelling: “Hozala ma se kinders, watse di kindergarten! Koz line, we must vibe tonight!”

Shanika’s whole face changed.

That smile was gone.

He just sat there, watching.

I tried to play it cool, told him: “He’s just a friend,” but the air was already thick.

Nani didn’t notice. He opened me a beer, handed one to Shanika, who couldn’t bring himself to drink it. Nani teased me, kept calling me “my baby sis”.

At some point, he turned to Shanika and laughed. “Het julle ‘n kura? Bru, ek ken is jo mavutu maar j line nie in cheezekop nie.”

My cheeks were red with embarrassment, but Nani didn’t care. “Just joking, relax," he said, before he continued to change the music, completely oblivious to the mood he was changing.

Shanika stayed quiet, then finally stood up, mumbled something about having an early morning, and left.

No fight, no scene, just quiet distance.

The next day, his texts were dry.

By the weekend... nothing.

Ghosted.

At first, I tried to act unbothered. Told myself he’s just busy, that he’ll come around. But Saturday night came, and I found myself on my second glass of wine, phone in hand, calling him.

No answer.

I called again. Then again.

Drunk, crying, sending paragraphs and voice notes. “Please, Shanika, just call me back. Please.”

The next morning, I woke up with a headache and a pit in my stomach. The kind that tells you you’ve embarrassed yourself beyond repair. I couldn’t believe I had begged a man.

And still... no message.

That’s the thing about that kind of silence. It’s not just absence, it’s punishment.

It leaves you asking yourself questions that don’t even have answers.

Because tell me, what makes heartbreak valid?

When you’ve shared a bed but not a body?

When you’ve been chosen for a moment, but not for long?

We never even had sex, didn’t even kiss...

But it still broke me like we did.

And finally... he responded.

Except he didn’t, not really.

WhatsApp showed me he was typing.

I waited with bated breath, heart pounding, throat dry.

What did he have to say?

To be continued...

- Part II: Why we shouldn’t cry over situationships continues next weekend.

* The Ozon?u Chronicles are essays based on real experiences told through reflective storytelling. Names and identifying details have been changed. Each story explores the raw edges of love, identity and the messy middle where growth often hides.