After praying together, eating, and half-arguing over who’d do dishes, the two friends had laughed their way into the late evening.
Japheth had convinced Luyando to stay up and watch the replay of the Chelsea match from two weeks ago, Ham had scored a beautiful header. It was surreal, watching his kid brother on the world stage. Japheth didn’t say much while watching, but his smile lingered long after the final whistle.

They had talked about work, debated team formations, and slowly dozed off, Luyando on the couch, Japheth eventually rising to go to his room.

But sleep didn’t come easily.

He tossed.

He turned.

The thoughts came again. That creeping sense of unease he hadn’t been able to shake since the MD’s meeting.

So he sat up. Closed his eyes. Whispered.

“Lord… I sense something bad is about to happen. I can feel it in my spirit, and I don’t know what it is. But if it’s something that cannot be avoided… give me the strength to go through it. If it’s just the enemy trying to manipulate darkness, Lord… fix it. Block it. Turn it around.”

The words settled over his room like a blanket.

Eventually, his mind quieted. Sleep pulled him under.

But it didn’t last.

He woke up to banging.

Hard, urgent knocking on his bedroom door.

“Japheth! Japheth!” Luyando’s voice broke through the dark.

Japheth sat up, heart thudding. “What’s going on? I just got to sleep.”

The door burst open. Luyando stood there in boxers and a t-shirt, phone clutched in one hand, eyes wide.

“There’s a rumor,” he said. “Something on the blogs. I don’t know if it’s true. I’ve called my family, no one’s answering, nobody is saying anything.”

Japheth blinked, trying to wake his brain. “What rumor?”

“I think…” Luyando swallowed. “I think my uncle is dead. There’s talk of a plane crash. The whole family.”

Japheth sat up, sharp. “What do you mean a plane crash?”

Luyando looked down at his screen. “It’s on a couple of Zambian blogs. No proper source. But the way they’re reporting it, ‘unconfirmed reports,’ that kind of thing. I’m scared, Japheth.”

“Wait, wait,” Japheth said quickly. “Has any proper news platform reported it? Has ZNBC announced it? What about Diamond TV? Or even CNN?”

Luyando shook his head. “Not yet. It’s just those shady online blogs. No TV, no press statements.”

“Then the possibility that it’s a lie is still high,” Japheth said, standing now. “We saw the man this morning. We saw Kaweme. Everything was fine.”

“But something could be wrong,” Luyando said, breathing heavier now. “They were flying this afternoon. Australia. Family retreat. I remember, Kaweme told me earlier that she didn’t want to go, but her mum called her to pack up and join them.”

Japheth stared at him. “So… if she went…”

“Then it’s possible,” Luyando said. “If the plane went down, she was on it too.”

Japheth rubbed his face. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need to pray. And we need to call people. Someone must know something.”

“Okay,” Luyando said. “Let me try her number.”

He quickly scrolled to her contact and hit the dial.

They both watched the screen.

It rang once. Then silence.

Then…

“The number you’re trying to call is currently switched off…”

Japheth stared at the floor.

Luyando dropped the phone to his side, breath catching. “No. No no no. Not her.”

They sat in silence, the tension heavy between them.

Japheth closed his eyes. “Maybe her phone died. Maybe she’s on airplane mode. Or maybe she’s asleep.”

But neither of them knew what to believe.

Luyando whispered, voice hoarse, “God… please… let the worst not have happened.”

And Japheth, heart racing, sat there in the dark with him, praying silently that the whisper in his spirit had been wrong.

They’d barely had any sleep.

The sky was still a shade too grey when Japheth slid into the driver’s seat, glancing sideways at Luyando, who looked like he hadn’t blinked all night.

It was supposed to be Luyando’s turn to drive, but he hadn’t even reached for the keys. Just walked out, silent and slow, hoodie over his head like it could shield him from whatever was coming.

Japheth drove.

They didn’t say much, until Luyando, without thinking, reached over and turned on the radio.

Static first. Then music. Then the voice of a newscaster, somber and slow.

“We’re still tracking this developing story. Unconfirmed reports suggest that the Managing Director of Nezelcom Zambia, Mr. Obadiah Muntanga, his wife, and three children may have perished in a private jet crash en route to Sydney, Australia. The crash is believed to have occurred somewhere over the Indian Ocean, but details remain unclear. We’ve reached out to the management of Nezelcom for confirmation…”

Luyando exhaled sharply. “Oh God. This is terrible.”

Almost immediately, his phone began to vibrate in his lap. Mum.

He picked it up.

“Mummy?”

“Luyando!” her voice cracked. “What is this we’re hearing? Is it true? Please tell me it’s not true, nothing must happen to my sister and her family.”

“Mummy, I don’t know. We’re on our way to work. Everyone is saying something different. Please, calm down.”

“No! Luyando, please. Call me the moment you know anything. I’m begging you. Call me.”

“I will,” he said, voice thick. “I promise.”

The line went dead.

By the time they pulled into Nezelcom’s corporate compound, the air around the building already felt strange. Too quiet. Too cold. Too still. Colleagues stood in pockets, whispering, staring at phones, pretending to work. Japheth parked quickly.

“I need to find someone,” Luyando said, already stepping out.

He went straight for the office of the Chief Communications Officer.

The man was at his desk, back stiff, phone in hand.

“Sir, please,” Luyando said. “What’s happening? Is it true?”

The man didn’t look up. “I can’t speak right now.”

“Please,” Luyando insisted. “No one is saying anything. I need to know. I’m confused.”

The CCO hesitated. He knew. Everyone knew who Luyando’s family was.

“There’s speculation,” he said finally. “We’ve reached out. We’re waiting for confirmation. We’re…”

He didn’t get to finish.

Across the office, someone gasped. Then another voice, low and trembling, said:

“It’s just been confirmed on CNN… and ZNBC picked it up… they’ve found the wreckage.”

The room shifted. The CCO turned on his television.

“The site has been located,” the newscaster continued. “No survivors have been reported. Among the passengers, Mr. Obadiah Muntanga, his wife, and their three children…”

Luyando didn’t move.

Japheth, standing just behind him, felt his stomach lurch. He couldn’t breathe for a second.

The man who had shaken his hand yesterday.

The lady who shared her dreams of beauty entrepreneurship at a place that now felt like another world; a girl who he had refused to give his number, just yesterday.

Kaweme…

The CCO straightened and immediately began to bark orders. “Get the team together. We need to draft a statement. Call a press conference. Get the legal team and media liaison, now.”

But Japheth wasn’t listening. He was watching Luyando, whose eyes were fixed on nothing, whose hands trembled slightly, like the world around him had just dropped away.

“Luyando,” he said gently. “Luyando.”

No response.

“Hey, look at me.”

Luyando blinked, slowly turning to him. His voice was flat, ghost-like. “I need to go to my mother.”

“Okay,” Japheth said, already reaching for his keys from his pocket. “I’ll drive you.”

Luyando nodded.

They left without another word.

By the time they pulled out of the compound, the city was fully awake.

But for Japheth, the air had never felt heavier.

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

By the time they arrived at Mr. and Mrs. Chanda’s home, the news was no longer news.

The compound was flooded with parked cars. Family members huddled in corners. Chairs were being pulled out from the dining room. Someone had turned off the TV, no one could watch it anymore. There were no words to cover what the screen kept repeating: a crash, no survivors, the loss of an entire family.

Inside, the house was tears and murmurs.

Mrs. Chanda, normally a woman of elegance and poise, was barefoot in a long t-shirt and a chitenge wrapper, face swollen from crying. Her voice had gone hoarse, her sobs now dry and silent as she leaned against her husband’s shoulder like she couldn’t hold her own weight.

The moment she saw Luyando, she rose without thinking and rushed into his arms, holding him like the world had collapsed and he was all she had left.

Luyando hugged her tight, his eyes closing as the tears returned.

“My sister… my sister… Obadiah… the children…” she kept repeating.

Japheth stood a respectful distance behind, unsure where to place his emotions. Mr. Chanda reached out, gave him a handshake and half-hug, patting his back.

People spoke in whispers around the room.

“How can everybody be gone?”

“All of them… even the pilots?”

“This is too much…”

A few feet away, the housekeeper walked in quietly with a phone in hand.

“Madam,” she said, softly. “Your phone is ringing.”

“Shut it down,” Mrs. Chanda snapped, without looking. “I don’t want to speak to anyone. I can’t hear one more ‘sorry.’ They don’t know what they’re talking about. My sister is not dead.”

“But, ” the housekeeper hesitated.

Mr. Chanda stood, took the phone gently from her hands, glanced at the screen.

His brows furrowed. “It says… Kaweme.”

The room paused.

“I thought… they said she was on the flight,” he murmured.

“Turn it off,” Mrs. Chanda repeated, but the call had disconnected. She was so frantic she didn’t hear what her husband was saying. “Don’t open anything, don’t answer anything. They are posting lies, they’re saying names they haven’t confirmed.”

Just then, a news anchor’s voice came from a phone someone had turned back on.

“…among the deceased are Mr. Obadiah Muntanga, his wife, their first-born daughter, a pilot, a co-pilot, and the company’s executive assistant.”

Someone said it aloud before anyone could process, “But where’s Kaweme’s name? And the little boy?”

The room froze.

“Kaweme was calling you just now,” Mr Chanda said, hope in his voice.

Mrs. Chanda grabbed the phone, pressed redial with shaking hands.

It rang once. Then, she heard her niece.

“Kaweme?” she asked, breath held.

“Aunty?” came the voice on the other end, broken and panicked. “Tell me it’s not true. I’m confused. I just saw all the messages… What are they saying?!”

“Oh God!” Mrs. Chanda began to cry again, but this time with a different kind of wail. “You’re alive! My sister’s children, oh my God, you’re alive!”

“I’m at home, of course I am alive. No one is dead. Why are you panicking?” Kaweme sobbed. “It’s just me and Kalo here. The rest of the family travelled, they will call us when they settle.  I didn’t want to go. Mummy forced me to pack, but I begged her. I told her I was tired. They left me behind. Aunty please don’t believe the fake news, I don’t understand how the media could be so cruel. We have to sue.”

“I’m coming,” Mrs. Chanda said. “I’m coming to you now.”

She hung up, turned to the room, shaking. “They’re alive. Kaweme and the boy, Kalo, they didn’t go.”

A breath seemed to pass through everyone in the room at once.

“Thank God.”

“Two children left…”

“My sister’s babies…” Mrs. Chanda whispered, grabbing her bag and already walking toward the door.

“I’ll drive you,” Mr. Chanda said immediately.

“I’m coming,” Luyando added, but not thinking straight, everything still felt like a dream.

Japheth stepped forward. “Can I come too?”

Luyando turned, eyes bloodshot, heart too raw to process, but he nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

They headed toward the door.

As Japheth reached for his phone from the side of his pocket, it buzzed with a message from Shem:

“You promised to come see Daddy today. Are you going straight after work? Or should we plan it?”

Japheth stared at the screen.

Not now.

Not today.

He sent a text.

Please, I need to reschedule. Something came up. I will explain later.

He sighed, slipped the phone back into his pocket, and followed the others out of the house, toward the girl who had been left behind, and the miracle no one had known enough to pray for.

By the time they arrived at the Muntangas’ estate, chaos was already brewing.

The wide gates had barely swung open when they spotted reporters with mics and cameras gathered outside, news vans parked like they belonged. A few had tried pushing forward, but the private security team stationed at the entrance stood like pillars, refusing to let anyone in.

Inside, the marble-floored foyer of the mansion was just as tense. Relatives from Mr. Obadiah Muntanga’s extended family had already filled the house, voices overlapping, speculations flying, some crying, others simply sitting in silence with grief painted across their faces.

Not everyone was allowed past the front door.

But then one of the guards recognized Mrs. Chanda.

“That’s her sister,” he whispered. “That is madam’s younger sister.”

Permission was granted without question.

And so they entered.

Japheth walked behind Luyando and his parents, taking in the somber atmosphere, the crying, the praying, the way some people just stared blankly ahead like they were still waiting to wake up.

Then…

A sound. A cry.

From the stairs.

“Kaweme!”

She was already rushing down, barefoot, wearing an oversized shirt and shorts, her hair in a messy bun. The moment she saw her aunt, she let out a sound between a scream and a sob and fell into her arms.

“Aunty… Aunty Ruth…” Her voice cracked. “Please tell me this is a lie. Why is everyone here, and why? Why won’t Musonda pick my call? Mummy isn’t picking either.”

Ruth Chanda couldn’t hold back her tears, they burst forth uncontrollably.

“I should have been on that plane!” Kaweme wept. “I fought with Daddy and refused to go. I should’ve gone! It should have been me, not my sister, she was smarter, kinder… better. Why didn’t I go?! It should’ve been me!”

“Aaah… no, no, my girl. Don’t say that,” her Aunty Ruth cried, holding her niece close, rocking with her on the tiles.

Japheth stood near the corner of the living room, his hands useless by his sides. His heart twisted as he watched Kaweme unravel in grief. His eyes met hers for one brief second, but she looked away immediately, consumed.

He muttered a soft “I’m sorry” under his breath.

From behind, Luyando stepped forward, gently placing a hand on his cousin’s shoulder.

“Mummy is not okay,” he whispered to her. “Let me take you upstairs. Let me get you out of here.”

Kaweme nodded weakly. “I want to go to my room.”

He nodded, threw a glance at Japheth, then guided her away from the sobbing crowd. Together, they disappeared up the staircase.

Japheth lingered.

He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, where to stand, how to look, whether to offer condolences or just fade into the background.

He slowly drifted toward the reception hallway, where voices were lower but no less biting.

“…you mean to tell me,” one man whispered, “that he didn’t write a proper will?”

“Apparently not,” came another voice. “Now the question is… what happens to all that wealth?”

“I’m telling you,” someone muttered, “if he had to lose a daughter… why not that unserious one with the makeup business? The quiet one is gone, and she was the real heir. You know Obadiah adored her.”

Japheth’s jaw tightened. His hand curled into a fist.

But just as he was about to turn around and respond to the insensitive gossip from people who knew nothing, on subjects too early to broach, his phone buzzed.

Luyando.

Please bring water upstairs. First room on the left, north wing. Big black door.

Japheth took a deep breath, forcing himself to let the whispers go.

He turned, heading toward the kitchen.

Inside, he found the housekeeper leaning against the sink, a cloth pressed to her face.

She looked up when he entered.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he said gently. “I need water. Luyando texted.”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. Her voice was raw. “It’s okay. Let me get it for you.”

She handed him a bottle from the fridge, her hands shaking slightly.

“She is my baby” the woman paused, eyes welling again. “That girl. Musonda. They are saying she died. My girl. I raised her. From a baby. She used to run to the kitchen to steal peanuts when she thought I wasn’t looking. So brilliant… so kind… and my madam with her husband. How can they all be dead?”

Japheth placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

She nodded again. “My other girl, Kaweme… She’s hurting badly. They didn’t understand each other, but she loved her sister. And my Kalo, he’s still sleeping, how do I tell him all these when he wakes up. This is too terrible,” the woman said, crying profusely now.

“I know,” Japheth whispered, rubbing her shoulder to offer her comfort. “I am sorry about the loss.”

When she was eventually a bit calm, he thanked her, took the water, and headed toward the staircase, toward the stronger grief, that he couldn’t understand how to be processed.

Japheth found the room easily.

It was the first one down the long corridor of the north wing, just as Luyando had described, tall double doors, polished black wood, and gold-plated handles. He hesitated for a second before knocking gently and easing it open.

The room was softly lit, spacious, and quiet.

Kaweme stood by the window, her arms folded tightly across her chest, staring down at the driveway. Through the sheer curtains, they could see cars arriving, relatives, reporters, strangers with long faces and smartphones. Bodyguards blocked the gate. Flashbulbs popped. People pushed. People grieved.

“She can’t be gone, my sister is not gone,” Kaweme whispered. Her voice was low, dry, scraped of emotion. “I saw her. I spoke to mummy. I saw Daddy in his office yesterday. We fought, we haven’t made up. He can’t be dead.”

Luyando stood behind her, trying to reach for her, but she waved him off.

“Don’t hug me. Don’t console me. I said I’m fine.”

Her voice cracked on the word fine. “My parents… my sister… they can’t be dead.”

“Kaweme..” Luyando started to say, but she cut him.

“What was the reason? Do you even know? Have you checked? Open the blogs. I want to see what they’re saying.”

Luyando reached gently for her phone, pried it from her fingers.

“No,” he said. “You don’t need to see that now.”

Just then, Japheth stepped in.

Luyando turned to him, relieved. “You brought the water?”

Japheth handed him the bottle.

Kaweme glanced at it and shook her head. “I’m not thirsty anymore. I said I’m okay.”

Japheth hesitated, wondering if he should say something, but changed his mind, unable to bear Kaweme’s pain, he began to quietly excuse himself.

But Kaweme turned. “Wait. Japheth, help us. Help me do the research. It’s not true, right? You’re smart. Tell me this is all a mistake.”

Her voice wavered, and suddenly tears spilled down her cheeks, unexpected, uninvited.

Japheth stood frozen, completely unsure what to do. “I… I’m sorry. It’s okay.”

“Don’t say that,” she snapped softly. “Don’t tell me it’s okay. Don’t tell me I’ll be fine. Tell me it’s a lie. That’s all I want to hear.”

She turned back toward the window, wiping her face with the sleeve of her shirt.

Then, as if struck by lightning, her eyes widened.

“Kalo,” she gasped. “Oh my God. Kalo is in his room. He was sick yesterday. He didn’t go to school. I don’t even know if anyone has checked on him!”

“I’m sure his nanny is with him,” Luyando said quickly.

“Kalo?” Japheth asked.

“My little cousin,” Luyando explained quietly. “Her brother. Ten years old. Miracle baby. Their mum had him late… thought she was done with children, but kept hoping for a boy. That was Kalo.”

Kaweme was already heading for the door.

“Wait,” Luyando said, blocking her gently. “Let me go check. If he sees you in this state, he’ll know something’s wrong. Let me handle it.”

“Handle what?” she snapped. “Our parents are not dead. My sister is not dead. What are you handling?”

“Kaweme, please,” Japheth said. “Luyando’s right. Just wait here.”

She paused, breathing hard, staring past them both. Then she turned back to the window and said nothing.

Luyando slipped out.

Japheth hovered awkwardly at the door, unsure if he should leave or stay. “I’ll go,” he whispered.

But just as he turned to go, her voice came again.

“Wait.”

He turned.

She didn’t look at him, just stood there, arms still crossed, shoulders trembling.

“I’m not crying because I believe they are dead. I am crying because this thing is too confusing. How can they be dead?” she said. “I just… I don’t understand why I’m alive. It should’ve been me. I told her I would come. I was the one who begged off. Musonda was stronger. Wiser. She could’ve carried Dad’s legacy. Not me. Kalo is just a boy. He doesn’t know anything. It shouldn’t fall on me.”

Without thinking, Japheth stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

And then, she turned.

She hugged him.

Tightly. Desperately.

Her voice muffled into his shirt. “I can’t do this without them. I need them. I need their wisdom.”

“Shhh,” Japheth whispered. “Don’t think about all that now.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

He gently pulled back, looking into her eyes.

“Can I pray with you?”

She blinked. “Pray?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’ve found that when you’ve hit the bottom, God is the only reliable source of hope. Even if you can’t feel it.”

She shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry. I’m not in the prayer mood.”

“I understand,” Japheth said. “But I believe you’re here for a reason. You may not see it now, but God preserved you.”

She looked at him, her expression hollow. “Right now… no reason makes sense, especially if it is true that I lost my family.”

There was a long silence.

Then Japheth said, with quiet conviction:

“It is well with your soul.”

Kaweme turned away.

“My soul is dead.”