SHEM

Zambian Army Barracks, Arakan, Lusaka.

Sixteen Years Later.

The sun was barely out, but the barracks were already alive with motion. Arakan was never truly quiet, boots always pounded the earth, drills echoed from open fields, and sharp commands sliced through the air like whistles. It was a place where discipline and routine ruled, where men were forged into soldiers and emotions were folded away like worn-out uniforms.

Captain Shem Mwansa had never needed help tucking his emotions away. He had built a fortress inside himself long before he ever wore a uniform. But today, that fortress was being summoned into question.

“Captain Mwansa,” came the gravel-toned voice of Colonel Chibwe from behind his desk. “Sit.”

Shem snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.”

“At ease.”

He obeyed, posture still iron-straight as he took the seat.

The Colonel leaned forward, elbows resting on a wooden desk that had seen too many men and too many secrets. “You’ve done this nation proud, Shem. Time and time again. From border operations to internal intel. I’ve never had cause to doubt your judgment.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Which is exactly why I’m asking you to take a break.”

Shem’s jaw twitched. “With all due respect, sir, I believe I have discharged my duty honourably. My conduct has never…”

The Colonel raised a hand. “Yes. And that’s the problem. You don’t stop, not for grief, not for rest, not even for yourself. It’s been three months since your father’s burial. You returned to active duty the next day. That’s not normal.”

Shem stared ahead. “People lose people every day, sir. Life continues.”

“Not like this. Not with what I know about you.” Colonel Chibwe’s voice softened. “You’ve given your entire adulthood to the army. I remember when you first arrived here, barely twenty. Angry. Efficient. Brilliant. You came to fix a few things, and you ended up giving us your life.”

Shem looked down. The polished tile stared back at him.

“Being a soldier is noble,” Chibwe continued. “But what about building a life of your own? A home? A family? You’re in your thirties now, son. When will you start living for you?”

Shem gave a quiet laugh in self mockery, then confessed. “I used to think I would marry early. I told myself I’d be married before twenty-five. I wanted a different life from the one I grew up in.”

“And what happened?”

Shem shrugged, trying not to sound bitter. “The girls don’t stay. They say I’m too hard. Too cold. They can’t with my nature, and I won’t fake softness just to keep someone.”

The Colonel chuckled. “Maybe they weren’t the right ones. Maybe you need someone who understands your world.”

Shem gave a skeptical smile. “Does a person like that exist?”

Chibwe leaned back. “My niece will likely fit you. She’s in the Navy. Fierce, brilliant, doesn’t take nonsense. Maybe I should arrange something.”

Shem blinked. “You’re serious?”

“I am. You said you wanted a family. Sometimes God uses the strangest setups to bring people together. I’ll talk to her, if you don’t mind.”

Shem hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I don’t mind.”

“Good. I’ll reach out to her this week. Meanwhile, you’re officially on a one month leave.”

Shem didn’t like it, but he rose and straightened, there was no point arguing with his boss, the man rarely ever changes his mind. “Permission to fall out, sir?”

“Granted. And Shem?”

“Sir?”

“Don’t waste the leave. Mourn your father, let it heal something.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shem stepped out into the morning light, saluted the guard at the door, and walked across the gravel-strewn path that led past the mess hall. Behind him, the flags of Zambia fluttered against the copper-brightening sky. His phone rang.

Japheth.

Of course.

He stared at the screen for a second before answering. His brother had been calling more frequently since their father’s funeral. It irritated him more than he liked to admit, because he promised Jesus that he had forgiven his brother. What he didn’t anticipate was a relationship. Why now? Why try to be a brother when the years it would have mattered most were long gone?

He picked up anyway.

“Japheth. To what do I owe this rare honour?”

“Stop being dramatic,” Japheth replied, chuckling. “I just wanted to check on you. How are you?”

Shem’s voice flattened. “I’m fine.”

“Can we see? Maybe go out, catch up?”

Shem snorted. “You know we don’t roll like that.”

“We can start to,” Japheth said quietly.

Shem paused. “You do realise you’re about sixteen years too late for all that?”

There was silence on the other end. Then Japheth said, “Are we really going to stay trapped in the past and never give the future a chance?”

The words hit harder than Shem expected.

He flinched, then looked away, pretending he hadn’t felt it.

“Well, I guess I have time on my hands,” he muttered. “My boss just threw me on compulsory leave. One month.”

“Fantastic,” Japheth said quickly. “You know what? Forget going out. Come spend your leave with me.”

Shem blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. You probably have zero plans. You always work. So instead of floating around Lusaka, come and stay with me for a bit.”

Shem hesitated. “I don’t know, man. I really—”

“You were about to say you wouldn’t. Why?”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Well,” Japheth said calmly, “if you change your mind, you already know where I live. It would be good for us to talk, really talk, and catch up.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Shem muttered. “I don’t know about all this bonding stuff.”

“Just think about it,” Japheth replied. “And call me.”

The line clicked.

Shem lowered the phone slowly, then tucked it into his back pocket.

He hated that these calls stirred something in him, something soft, something hopeful. He loved Japheth. Maybe too much. And that was the real reason it hurt to be around him. Because it reminded him of what they never got to have: real brotherhood.

He stood outside the Colonel’s office, the sun warming the back of his neck, the noise of the barracks carrying on around him.

He toyed with the idea of going to spend his leave with Japheth, then he shook his head and let it go.

At least for now.

—————————————————————————————————————————-

  JAPHETH

The wind was thick with dust as Japheth Mwansa turned onto the road leading to the airport. They were on their way to pick Kaweme. He rolled down the window slightly, letting in a breeze that carried the scent of dry air and diesel. In the passenger seat, Luyando adjusted the volume on the radio, then turned it off entirely.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

Japheth nodded. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About her?”

“And Shem.”

Luyando gave a soft whistle. “Double trouble.”

Japheth managed a tired smile. “I meant it when I invited him to stay. I know it didn’t sound like much, but I really do want him to come.”

“Hmm,” Luyando sighed.

“I know what you’re thinking. That he’ll never take me up on it. Maybe you’re right. But still… I had to ask. After everything that’s happened, I don’t want us to keep drifting. He’s my brother, Lu.”

Luyando glanced at him. “You’ve always wanted more with him. You used to talk about it in school like it was your fault he didn’t come close, but you can’t put all that on yourself.”

Japheth didn’t respond for a few seconds. “Maybe it was my fault. Or maybe it wasn’t. But we’re not kids anymore. If there’s a chance to make things right, I want to take it.”

“You really want him there when Kaweme comes back?”

“Yes,” Japheth said softly. “This part of my life, I want him to see it. Be part of it.”

Luyando nodded, and the car settled into a thoughtful silence.

The airport road unfurled ahead of them, sun glinting off parked buses and roadside vendors selling airtime and roasted groundnuts in plastic containers. Lusaka had its own rhythm, chaotic, warm, relentless. And today, it was carrying someone special home.

“Ten months,” Japheth said.

Luyando raised a brow.

“She’s been gone for ten months. And somehow, it still feels unreal that she’s coming back.”

“You two have been… what? Talking every day?”

“Pretty much,” Japheth smiled. “At first, it was just catching up, random chats. But somewhere along the line, it just… shifted.”

“Shifted how?”

Japheth rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t even know. There wasn’t one big moment. But after my dad passed, I told her how I felt. I couldn’t keep tiptoeing around it. Life felt too short to pretend.”

“And she?”

“She didn’t say much, just affirmed her commitment. But after that, it was like we both stopped pretending. Conversations got deeper. Future plans started slipping into the mix.”

“So you’re basically dating.”

Japheth chuckled. “We never said it out loud. But yes. We are.”

Luyando grinned. “So… what now?”

“I’ve prayed about her, Lu. I know it looks like I am rushing, but I know what I want. I want to build something with her.”

“Marriage?”

Japheth hesitated, then nodded. “As soon as it can be arranged, yes. But I don’t want to scare her off. I’m just going to take it one step at a time.”

Luyando gave a mock sigh. “Look at you. Mature Japheth.”

“Don’t be annoying.”

“I’m serious. You’ve changed. You’ve become more, whole. I think Kaweme had something to do with that.”

Japheth didn’t answer, but he smiled.

“And Shem?” Luyando asked. “You really think he’ll come?”

“I don’t know,” Japheth admitted. “But I want him to. I’ve spent too many years waiting for that bridge to build itself. Maybe this time, I’ll need to build it with my own hands.”

The airport came into view, its glass facade reflecting the sunlight like a quiet promise.

“Big day,” Luyando said, reaching for the door.

“Yeah,” Japheth said, his heart beginning to drum just a little faster. “Big day. Kaweme is here. My life is about to begin again.”

————————————————————————————————————————–

 SHEM

Somewhere in Lusaka – Later That Week

It had been three days since his boss forced a leave on him, and Shem was already crawling up the walls.

There was only so much sweeping, pacing, and pointless WhatsApp scrolling a man could do. In the past, he’d have used the time to check on his father, ensure the old man’s water was close, meds were lined up, and the small transistor radio still worked. But now that the house was empty, truly empty, he couldn’t find his footing. The air inside felt like it was soaked with memory. And grief.

People assumed he stayed back to care for the man because of some deep father-son connection. That wasn’t it. He stayed because someone had to. And as always, he was that someone.

He had moved into the house two years before the man passed. Renovated the room. Installed a working fan. Made it livable. But since the burial, the house had felt colder. More haunted. As though the absence had grown arms and wrapped itself around the furniture, the walls, even his skin.

Japheth had called twice since their conversation, checking in, trying to be a brother. It irritated Shem, even though part of him welcomed it. He knew why Japheth invited him over: pity. It was the sort of invitation one gave to a stray dog, not a sibling. The thought made his jaw tighten.

So when his boss finally followed up and texted the contact of “the girl,” he didn’t hesitate.

Her name is Lieutenant Commander Rudo Mwanza. Navy. Solid girl. I’ve told her to expect your call. Don’t mess it up, son.

The message made him chuckle. The old man really thought matchmaking was part of his job.

He texted Rudo. She responded quickly. She was one of those no-nonsense types. She suggested they meet at Lilayi Garden Bistro, just off Kafue Road. The name alone sounded expensive. Shem had never been to a place like that. But he wasn’t broke, he’d been careful. No flashy habits. His army salary stacked in silent piles. And since Japheth handled most of the burial expenses like a big boy, Shem still had some funds to spare.

He ironed one of his good shirts. The blue one. Brushed down his boots. No cologne, but he showered long and hard, scrubbed like he was washing off uncertainty.

By the time he arrived at the bistro, she was already there. She’d sent him a picture to help him find her, a bold move that sent his heart fluttering in a way he wasn’t used to. She looked just like the photo. Beautiful, in that well-put-together way military women carried themselves. Hair pulled back neatly, skin rich and glowing.

“You’re Shem, right?” she asked as he approached.

He nodded. “Yes. You must be Rudo.”

“Welcome,” she said, smiling as she gestured to the seat opposite her. This was a woman used to giving orders, a woman who could never consider him a hard man, because she wasn’t soft either.

They started talking. She was direct, sharp, witty. Talked about her deployments, her time on the water, the absurd things soldiers said when they thought they were dying. She had stories, and style. Shem found himself nodding, even smiling.

But inside, there was… silence.

No spark. No fire.

She ticked all the right boxes: smart, pretty, respected in her field. A few years ahead of him in rank, but that didn’t bother him. Nothing did, really, except the fact that he didn’t feel anything. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe feelings were a luxury for people who hadn’t buried their parents alone, fought street boys at ten, or been left out of their brothers’ lives for most of their existence.

Maybe, for someone like him, responsibility was enough.

She glanced at her phone mid-conversation and groaned. “Oh wow, I forgot I’m on duty tomorrow. Unlike you, man on leave, I’ve got to go.”

He smiled politely. “Thanks for tonight.”

“You’re not as scary as my uncle made you sound,” she said, laughing as she got into her car.

He watched her drive off, then turned back toward the garden. He had no plans. No place to go. So he walked.

The evening breeze rustled through the jacaranda trees. Lilayi Garden was the kind of place people came to for proposals or anniversary dinners. A place full of life. It reminded him how hollow he felt.

He found a stone bench tucked behind some shrubs and sat, staring at the stars.

And then, quietly, he prayed.

“I know our relationship is weird, God,” he muttered. “Sometimes I burn for You. Other times, I forget You exist. It’s not because I hate You. It’s because I’m confused. I don’t get how You can say You love me and still let my life be this… fractured.”

He clenched his fists, then let them go.

“But if You’re still there… if You’re listening… I need You to fix me. I’m tired. I’m tired of this ache, this emptiness. I want a life, God. I want more than this shell I’ve been walking around in. Please… sort me out.”

His voice cracked on the last word. He bowed his head in the desperate hope that heaven was still watching.

The air was cooling. The sun was slipping, painting the sky in shades of orange and violet. Everything felt too quiet. The laughter from the far side of the bistro didn’t touch him, nor did the scent of roses drifting from the flowerbeds. His heart was too full of things that had no name.

He paced slowly, one hand in his pocket, the other brushing against the trimmed hedge as he walked past it. Then he stopped.

There, at the far end of the garden, just beneath a lantern-lit baobab tree, he spotted a man and woman sitting closely together. They looked familiar. He might have walked past them without a thought, except something in the man’s laugh pulled him in. Then he heard the name.

“Japheth.”

His heart paused.

He took a step back, pressing into the shadow of a tree. He wasn’t supposed to be here. That wasn’t just his brother, it was his Japheth. And the woman…

Yes. He’d seen her face before. On TV. On Japheth’s WhatsApp status. On posters for some development initiative. And once, smiling shyly in a church programme flyer.

Kaweme.

Shem was frozen. His instinct was to turn around, retreat into the quiet corner of the life he knew. But he stayed.

He heard Japheth say, “I should’ve done something grand, you know… call your friends, get a surprise crew, music and lights. But Kaweme… I’m not that guy.”

She chuckled, her voice low and warm. “After everything I’ve survived this year? Please, keep the drama. If you want to propose, Japheth, just do it. That in itself is already a miracle.”

They both laughed. And Shem felt something crack inside him.

He couldn’t remember ever hearing Japheth laugh like that, light, easy, like someone who finally found rest. He should’ve felt jealousy. Maybe resentment. But what he felt was harder to define.

It was something like longing.

Japheth rose, slowly, deliberately. Dropped to one knee.

Shem’s breath caught.

“I don’t even know how to say this properly,” Japheth began, “but… Kaweme, you changed me. You changed how I see life. I was broken, deeply. In ways I didn’t even have language for. I never thought marriage was for someone like me. Not because I didn’t want it, but because I didn’t think someone from a cursed family deserved something that whole.”

Shem muttered under his breath. “You too?” A bitter smile tugged at his lips. “You’re the golden one, remember?”

But Japheth wasn’t finished.

“All my life, I thought reconciliation with my brothers would be my greatest healing. But then you came along, and I realized, healing doesn’t have to come all at once. You helped me believe that joy was possible, even in pieces. And… if it’s not too much, Kaweme, I want to protect you. I want to take care of your fears and hold up your hopes. I want to marry you. Will you marry me?”

Kaweme didn’t wait. She stood, pulled him up with a fierce urgency, and wrapped her arms around him.

Shem’s chest tightened.

He’d never been looked at like that. Never been held like that. Whatever they had, it was real. It was rare. It was everything he didn’t even know he craved.

From the shadows, he watched Japheth slip a ring onto her finger. She held up her hand to admire it, then turned back to him with a smile that could light a continent.

And Shem knew this was what he wanted. Not a soldier’s date arranged through a superior. Not a woman who respected him but didn’t see him. He wanted that kind of love. The kind that wasn’t afraid to say, I see you, all of you, and I still choose you.

He stepped away then, to let them have their moment.

But then, he froze.

On the far side of the garden, near the exit gate, beneath the shade of a tall jacaranda tree, stood another man. Still as a statue. Wearing black sunglasses, despite the falling dusk. A blue face cap pulled low. Arms folded.

Watching.

Not just observing. Watching.

Like he’d been sent.

Sent to follow.

Shem’s soldier instincts kicked in. He could tell when someone was watching out of curiosity, and when someone was watching with purpose.

This man? He was surveillance.

And he wasn’t watching the garden. He was watching them. Watching Japheth and Kaweme.

Shem’s pulse quickened. The garden suddenly felt too quiet. Too still.

He looked back at his brother, still laughing, still holding Kaweme close. Then back at the man in the shadows.

No doubt in his mind, it wasn’t Japheth they were following. It was Kaweme.

He clenched his jaw. So Kaweme had a tail? What for? Who was this man? What did he want?

Shem took one step back into the garden, hiding himself again in the shadows. His mood had shifted. He couldn’t walk away anymore. Not while someone was trailing his brother’s fiancée like prey. He and Japheth might not be best friends, but blood was blood.

And if something was wrong with his brother…

He was going to have his back. Always.