Int'engekhoyo -

She pointed to the horizon where the sun had finally disappeared. The stars weren't out yet, and the blue of the sky was turning to an infinite, deep black.

One evening, an old woman named Mam’ Ntombi sat beside him. She didn't say much at first; she just listened to the faint tinny beat leaking from his headphones. Int'engekhoyo

Lwazi was looking for something he couldn't name. It wasn't his lost keys or a forgotten book. It was a feeling—a "missing piece" that the music seemed to describe perfectly through its empty spaces and echoing chords. She pointed to the horizon where the sun