Written In The Stars. Mokopi Shale

      Dedication

      When you love you should not say, “God is in my heart,” but rather, “I am in the heart of God.” And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. – Khalil Gibran

      Chapter 1

      1

      The voluptuous, well-toned Masedi Gaonabokao sat in a quaint little restaurant in the Gaetsho shopping complex in the middle of Weltevreden Park, waiting for her girlfriends to arrive. The late-afternoon sun glinted off the sloping vista of green trees, spattered with red, grey and black rooftops, straight up to the horizon to the west.

      The weather was quite warm for October and Masedi had taken advantage of it early that morning by donning flowery palazzo pants and a spaghetti-strapped chiffon top in a light-green pattern, with red slip-on wedges. She failed to notice the admiring glances of men and women who studied her while she typed a poem into her tablet.

      She smiled to herself as the words flowed from her, took a sip of her iced water and lifted her face to savour the end of the week and the beginning of the weekend.

      Masedi glanced around the restaurant at the rapidly filling bar area. It was clear that everyone was enjoying the array of sundowners – the joy-filled laughter of the patrons filled the restaurant. Off to the side was a little island for what was clearly DJ decks, and a reasonably sized dance floor.

      There was suddenly a flutter from the doorway and Masedi knew that her friends had finally arrived, because they both believed in making an entrance. She couldn’t help but smile to herself as the duo strutted their stuff across the restaurant, acting like runway models.

      When they sat down and struck a pose, Masedi asked in amusement, “Are you serious?”

      “Always, darling,” Kagiso answered, completely deadpan.

      Masedi grimaced in exasperation. “You do know that the entire restaurant is staring at us?”

      “Don’t they always?” Tsholo responded.

      “It would be nice if you arrived early just once, so that I won’t get stared at like I’ve been stood up.” She closed her tablet.

      “Been writing again?” Tsholo asked.

      Masedi nodded.

      “Can we see?” Kagiso asked.

      “Nah,” Masedi replied with a grin.

      Tsholo changed the subject. “Nice spot you chose. Hopefully there won’t be any drooling cretins hovering over us.”

      “Well, if you hadn’t made a grand entrance, there wouldn’t have been. But you couldn’t resist,” Masedi chided.

      A waiter popped over to their table, took drinks and starter orders, and left the trio to enjoy the acid jazz that flowed across the restaurant.

      Masedi rolled her eyes. “I hope this isn’t one of those pretentious places. I’m really not in the mood to be challenged out of my complacency. It’s been a tough week.”

      “Don’t worry. They have live music,” Kagiso said.

      A naughty conspiratorial look flitted between her friends as they shared devious smiles.

      “What’s up?” Masedi asked.

      “Jislaaik! I’ve never met such a suspicious woman,” Tsholo said.

      “Do you blame me? I’m always on the receiving end of your schemes,” Masedi complained.

      “Well, if you’d stop having your nose in your work and your writing all the time and try to live a little more, we’d relent. It’s been two years since Brian,” Kagiso reminded her.

      Masedi’s heart sank into the pit of her stomach and the light in her world suddenly dimmed. She sucked her lower lip into her mouth as she tried to suppress the emotional anguish that flooded her being.

      Her friends stared at her worriedly. Kagiso leaned closer to put her arm around Masedi’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, babe. I just think you deserve so much more than that confused Brian,” she said.

      “Even your mother said you were wasting your time,” Tsholo added, not very helpfully.

      Masedi released a little half-snort, half-laugh and tried to compose herself.

      “Yeah . . . But to know something mentally and to understand it in your soul, to know it in your heart, are such totally different things. I guess I’m still clinging to the promise of the future we dreamed of together.” A film of tears clouded her vision. She took a gulp of water and asked, “Can we talk about something else? O kae Thuto?”

      “Ga ke itse? Do you know that mothaka yoo took an assignment travelling all over the country without consulting me?” Kagiso replied. “That’s the problem with these journalist-writer-artist types. They’re good at the emotional stuff, but that also makes them damn flighty!”

      “Shame, babe . . .”

      “If he doesn’t get his act together he must forget about me, because I don’t have time for all that emotional angst and wallowing. Sorry!”

      The three friends laughed. The waiter popped up next to their table and served them their drinks – a mojito for Kagiso, a Johnnie Walker for Tsholo and a daiquiri for Masedi.

      “Actually, it was Thuto who introduced me to this place,” Kagiso said when the waiter left. “I’m sure you’ll like it. There’s even a shop that sells the jewellery you make.”

      “Oh, really?” Masedi was surprised. “I don’t have that many outlets.”

      “Anyway . . .” Kagiso’s voice trailed off. “Actually, we’ve invited you out quite a few times, but . . .”

      “Yeah, I was too busy wallowing in my sorrow,” Masedi chuckled self-deprecatingly. “But I’m here now.”

      “Yes, you are. To living life fully!” Tsholo lifted her glass in a toast.

      They clinked glasses and glanced over the menus, ignoring the admiring glances of the gentlemen at the adjacent table.

      By the end of their meal, all the tables were full, right down to the sexy little ottomans that had been assigned to each table. The DJ filled the venue with a mixture of old-school music and popular contemporary music. Masedi was still on daiquiri number one, but her friends were downing their second drinks.

      “I hope that is your last,” she warned them. “Because I’m not bailing you guys out of jail for drunken driving.”

      “Don’t worry, darling. We took a taxi here. And you’re driving us home,” Kagiso answered flippantly.

      “Hee banna!”

      “Yep. We figured since you’re basically a teetotaller we’d take advantage. That way we can also compare notes on the way home. Anyway, we all sort of live around here,” Tsholo said.

      “What? Me in Weltevreden Park and you in North Riding?!”

      Tsholo and Kagiso looked at each other and then at her. “Yep.”

      “Waitse! You’re unbelievable!” an exasperated Masedi said.

      Suddenly a strumming sound filled the restaurant and a husky baritone voice started singing the old Se-tswana greeting song “Dumelang, re a le dumedisa”.

      “He’s here,” Kagiso said, waiting excitedly for the show to begin.

      Masedi’s friends watched the intrigued play of emotion on her face as the voice weaved in and out of the crowd while the musician sang the greeting. His voice came closer and closer, and Masedi craned her neck to get a better look at him.

      She felt her heart plummet and the muscles in her stomach contract when she