Bunguswa Writes.

Chapter One: The Lounge of Broken Mirrors The first time I walked into Barbra’s Lounge, I carried the smile of a man who still believed the world could be tricked by performance. I had learned how to laugh loudly enough to distract even my own demons, and Barbra’s became the stage where my mask glittered the most. The waiters knew me as that cheerful fellow who cracked jokes with strangers, lifted glasses in toasts that celebrated nothing in particular, and swayed to the music as though joy itself had leased my body for the night. But that laughter was not joy—it was camouflage. Behind it lingered a man who had stumbled through the ruins of a failed graduation, whose degree was now nothing more than a half-burnt paper in the mind, a certificate whose absence mocked him like a missing tooth. Behind it lay a failed relationship, the kind that doesn’t just leave you lonely but leaves you hollow, scraping echoes in the chest where tenderness once lived. Behind it crouched poverty, the stub...

I carry no roses, only the dust of my journey, yet in your eyes I plant orchards of forever. My shirt is torn, but the wind stitches it with hymns only the poor can hear at dusk. The world mocks the man whose coins are silence, but I write wealth on your palms with my breath. Love, they say, is a bird fed on golden crumbs, but ours drinks rainwater from tin cups. Your laughter is the roof I cannot buy, your touch the blanket my wages could not weave. Let them build mansions with currencies of glass— I will build a kingdom from the patience of stars. For even a beggar, when kissed by dawn, owns a sunrise the rich cannot purchase.

The school assembly hall was buzzing with chatter as students filed in. Ryan stood near the back, supervising as usual. He wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a watchful presence—an assistant teacher fresh out of college, barely older than some of the students. Then she walked up to the podium. Molly, the student council president. The hall quieted under her voice. “Good morning, everyone,” she said firmly. “We’ll keep this assembly brief, so listen closely.” Ryan’s eyes followed her with quiet admiration. She carried herself differently—confident, poised, yet warm. When she finished and dismissed the school, he found himself clapping a second longer than necessary. Steady, he warned himself. She’s a student. Nothing more. But life has a way of breaking even the strictest rules we set for ourselves. --- A week later, after a debate competition, Molly approached him while he was gathering papers. “Sir,” she began softly. Ryan looked up. “Yes, Molly?” “You explained that...