Getting back

She stood outside the double doors of his residence. the chilly wind blew around her as though it wasn’t the end of August but the middle of June. The doors were closed and she couldn’t get in without someone to sign her in. whose visitor would she be the security guard would ask her, mocking and suggestive. RT didn’t know that she was downstairs, waiting awkwardly to ask any random boy to sign her in- she would find her way to his room once inside, or to at least call him out for her. Her heart was beating fast in anxiety, was she doing the right thing, being here? After all they hadn’t talked properly since more than two months ago. Never mind that they attended class on the same campus, went to the same classes. She didn’t even know what she was going to say to him.
He had tried calling her in the last fortnight, trying to explain himself and his actions. But she had shut him down, answered coldly and told him that she was busy with assignments and studying she couldn’t even focus on. She was determined not to give him a second chance. After all he had broken her heart by breaking off their friendship on account of her refusal to date him. He’d told her quite clearly that “I cannot just be your friend. I cannot live with that, so from now you are blocked and deleted”. He’d sent the text message and had not looked back until two weeks ago. She’d felt like he had not just liquidated a friendship, he’d just desecrated every memory they’d made. He’d disregarded every word exchanged between them. He’d violated the intimacy they’d shared. Their silver cup was broken and it was all his fault. It was his fault because he wanted what she couldn’t give. She didn’t have love to give. Had her friendship not been enough?
 She’d also been angry and hurt since that time and when he called two weeks ago she had been surprised. So surprised to see his name and number on her phone’s screen screaming to be picked up, that she let the first call be missed. Didn’t this name belong to the same boy who seemed to refuse to greet her when he passed by her at school? Who wouldn’t look at her, turning his eyes away from her when hers landed on him? Was it the same boy calling? When she answered she didn’t talk with the same freedom that used to characterise their calls-laughing awkwardly-too shrilly and with snorts- at his jokes and laughing more as he teased her about her laugh- instead she listened too quietly as he talked, nervously, trying to make her understand his mind and his emotions. The more silent she was, the more nervous he grew and it made him gabble more on the phone. When he was done she simply said “ok, I hear you. I’ve got to go and do my Thermos”. He asked briefly about how that was going, how far was she. But even then she answered dismissively, determined not to give him hope
. But when she heard about what had happened she quickly dressed and rushed to go to his residence. She needed to talk to him, face to face. She didn’t know what she was going to say to him. But she knew it wasn’t right that he was going through this alone, not when she was there. It wasn’t right. She pulled the collars of her trench coat closer up her neck, to cover her chin, as dry leaves swept away from near her feet in a sudden cold wind blowing. “Siya!”, she called to a boy coming closer, remorseful that she couldn’t remember his full name, whether Siyabonga or Siyamthanda or Siya-something-else.  “Hey”, he smiled warmly, as though glad that she’d just greeted. She wasn’t one to talk to many people, so he felt special. She realised this and felt even more remorseful that she had greeted only to use him. “How are you?”, she smiled. She asked him if he could call RT down please. A second ago he’d seemed ready to do whatever she could ask, but now something shifted in his eyes. He bound up the stairs anyway and five minutes later RT was coming down them. He paused midway down the flight when he saw her outside through the glass door.
 When he was outside she was surprised that he looked taller than she remembered. Was it possible that as tall as he already was he had grown, or did his old height startle her now only because he hadn’t stood this close to her in a long time? He said a quiet hi and just stood next to her, hands at his sides, not sure what else to do. She launched herself onto his chest first for a hug, wrapping her hands around his slightly muscled waist. He wrapped his arms around her too, pulling her closer and squeezing gently. She felt his back for the familiar texture of the scar he had there. He didn’t know who needed this hug more, her or himself.
When they finally pulled away from each other she smiled warmly at him. Her smiles always felt to him like they’d been created just for him. “iv missed you”, he said.
He asked her in and she went in after him. When she came into his room she laughed lightly at his face mirror which was hung up too high, too high for her anyway but perfect for him. “this is discrimination against short people” she complained. He laughed and retorted that 76t people had other benefits. At least they didn’t sleep with their feet ice cold because the blankets are too small to cover all their body. Now that was discrimination. They talked about other random stuff, trying to fill out the bit of tension between them, till she sat on the bed next to him and looked at him seriously. “How is The Original?” she asked, with a very slight smile. He laughed lightly at the name she’d coined for his father. Apparently RT was the spitting image of his father and so even his father informed her that he was the original and RT was only a copy. They’d laughed at the theory, a private joke between her and his father.
 RT disclosed to her what had happened and that although it had been bad, they were out of danger now. They could even call them from the hospital. She was nervous about speaking to his parents, as she always was, but he assured her that they would be glad. “it might just speed up their recovery” he coaxed.  “The Original” she greeted, smiling nervously on her side of the phone. `”is it possible?” he asked, recognising her voice immediately, with that warm joviality that was as original as he. He quickly launched into stories and jokes that made her laugh and laugh, just as RT always used to, telling her that they’d missed her and why had ‘makoti’ hidden herself for so long? She laughed shyly and asked to talk to Mrs Original, whispering the name she’d given his wife, and he laughed and said “here she is”. She sounded more subdued, as though she could feel the pains and wouldn’t try to conceal them from her like her husband did. She was glad she had called though. Before she said goodbye to them she advised the Original to be strong, he still had to see more copies of himself in the future. He laughed, “don’t worry my daughter, I will remain until I see the third, even the fourth generation”.
 When she hung up RT saw her wipe away a tear that had nearly escaped her eye. “don’t worry, they’ll be fine. You see, they sound better already”, he reassured her, touching her hand. “why didn’t you tell me earlier?” she asked in a whisper. He looked down, “you wouldn’t speak to me and…”. Before he finished speaking she came closer and kissed him.