Chapter 1: Across the Oceans, the story starts
Chapter 1
Rain Ndlovu
Being the family disappointment isn’t just a title, it’s an everyday reality show I never signed up for, but somehow got front-row seats to, the kind where every insult is a new episode and the laugh track is just my own heavy sighs, I remember those nights as a kid, hiding in my room, clutching my pillow as if it could shield me from the world’s judgment and I would cry silent tears whenever someone’s comment sliced through me, usually disguised as a joke, but it stung all the same.
I have an older sister, Clementine, but I call her Clammy, because, let’s be honest, it’s way more fun, you know Clammy has always been my lifeline through this storm called life, her sarcasm is a shield, her advice a map, and then there’s Olivia, my cousin, a grade 12 queen who’s younger but somehow older in wisdom, she’s been my partner in crime, my sounding board since forever.
At home, it’s just the four of us, me, Clammy, Olivia, and Granny and if you’re thinking “aw, that sounds cozy,” hold up... Granny and I? We have the kind of relationship that shifts like the weather in Jo’burg, ine minute she’s the sweet old lady everyone gushes about, the next she’s sharp tongued and colder than a Durban winter morning, she has five children, three married, two flown the coop, which leaves me in the eye of this family storm.
I won’t dive too deep into the ocean of grievances with Granny and her kids, but let’s just say the word “support” isn’t in their vocabulary when it comes to me, there’s only one Auntie who checks in on me, who asks about my life and sometimes slides me a few rand when the bills start whispering threats.
I’m 26 years old, and sometimes I wonder if I’m cursed to be stuck in this nothingness, that maybe if my mother were still here, things would be different, not that I want to wallow, I’m a writer, after all... A novel writer, though my audience is currently the empty room and the screen that refuses to light up with notifications, still, hope is a stubborn spark.
The clock’s nudging 7:30 AM and Olivia left for school at half past six, and I’ve been awake since then, my brain doing cartwheels of anxiety and dreams, right now I’m hunched over my phone, fingers trembling over the keyboard, trying to squeeze stories out like juice from a stubborn orange.
By 8 AM, the bed is made, perfectly, if I say so myself and Clammy is already basking in the morning sun, laptop balanced on her knees, typing away like she’s about to crack the code to life, if you're wondering she works from home, the modern day hustler.
Granny? She’s probably at church, humming some hymn that I don’t quite get but respect from a distance and honestly, the silence is a blessing.
I pull out my phone and start typing the first words of my next novel, it’s about love, pain, and second chances but mostly about obsession because here’s a secret: I’m wildly obsessed with Korea and everything Korean. BTS especially, their music, their style, their vibe it’s like my secret universe where I fit in perfectly.
Yeah, I know, I don’t exactly fit Korean beauty standards and not even close but I don’t care, I’ve been teaching myself Korean for months now, dreaming of someday catching their concert live, screaming with thousands of fans, and maybe, just maybe... feeling like I belong.
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Kim Jiyoon
Being the son of Korea’s biggest business empire is less glam than it sounds, it’s like living inside a glass cage and everyone is watching, judging, controlling. My life is dictated by schedules, endless meetings, and my father’s iron fist, which plans out my every move like a chess game I never agreed to play.
I’m 28 years old and still told what to do like a rebellious teenager and that includes no clubbing, no wild nights, no freedom and I’ve got blind dates lined up like bad reruns because, of course, the family has to keep the wealth rolling in.
“Jiyoon, you don’t look good,” Jinwoo says, popping his head into my office.
I sigh, rubbing my tired eyes “I’ve been planning to blow off steam tonight and don’t ask me how dad found out.”
Jinwoo smirks “How about we sneak out? Just like college days.”
“What?!” I blink, shocked but desperate for the escape.
“We’ll face the music later,” he grins, like this is some juvenile game, gonestly, it feels childish that at 28, I’m playing hide and seek with my father.
Jinwoo has been my best friend since college, he’s from a wealthy family too, so my family likes him, more importantly, he’s the one person who gets how suffocating this life is.
My mother? I don’t know much, dad never talks about her and aybe it’s better this way as long as I’m sane and standing, I don’t need the messy history.
Tonight, though, is about freedom, the kast time I hit a club was four years ago, college finals, wild and reckless.
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Later that Night
Jiyoon and Jinwoo slipped out, adrenaline buzzing through their veins, the city lights of Seoul were a blur as the bass of the club thumped through their bodies.
Meanwhile, halfway across the world in Johannesburg, Rain stared at her screen, fingers dancing with nervous excitement, typing the first chapter of a story she hoped would change her life.
