*Good Morning* Girls and Boys 🧖I know someone is planning to groove this weekend, read this before going out. Things have been rough lately. No job. No money. My baby daddy left. I was feeling depressed, so I decided, “Aowa man, Let me go out and breathe a bit.” So I went to groove — some chill spot in Tembisa. It wasn’t even full. Just music, cheap Hunters, and people having a good time. That’s where I saw him. Thabiso. Light-skinned. Tall. Smelled like something expensive. Not loud like these other boys. He just smiled at me from the corner. He came and said, “You look tired, ngwaneso. Let me make you smile.” And he did. He bought me chips and wings, Savannah Dry, and we started vibing. We spoke about life, music, pain… I felt like he understood me. No lies, I started catching feelings. --- When the night ended, he asked, “Can I walk you home?” I said, “I don’t stay around here.” He smiled and said, “Then come to my place. You’ll be safe.” I should’ve said no. But I didn’t. --- We walked past the Engen garage, crossed a small path with grass and old bricks. I even asked, “Where’s this road going?” He laughed and said, “Don’t worry, my love. Just trust me.” His "house" was quiet. No barking dogs. No neighbours. Inside, there were candles, a little radio playing Brenda Fassie’s Too Late for Mama… He gave me a blanket, made me tea. He didn’t even try anything. He just said, “Sleep, nana. You’re safe now.” And I slept. --- But when I opened my eyes… I was outside. On the ground. No roof. No bed. No man. I was lying on the side of the road. Gravel. Tar. Sharp grass. My dress was torn. My shoes were gone. My body was bruised and cold. I looked up — and saw a big tree. Under it was a cross. Old and dusty. Candles. Fake flowers. A broken teddy bear. And a photo. It was him. Thabiso. Same face. Same smile. Same gold chain. The board said: RIP Thabiso Mokoena Died: 7 June 2017 Car accident – killed instantly at this spot. I started crying. I started shaking. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. My chest was heavy. My mind blank. I was lying exactly where Thabiso had died. --- I ran to the main road. A taxi driver stopped and said, “Yoh! Another one? This happens every winter, mfethu.” I said, “What do you mean another one?” He looked at me and said, “That guy that died here? Women wake up here every year. You’re not the first.” --- Now I’m at home. I can’t sleep. There’s music playing in my head. Brenda Fassie. I keep smelling his cologne in my room. Last night, I saw footprints by my door… barefoot ones. And when I close my eyes, I hear his voice: “Sleep, nana. You’re safe now.” But I know I’m not safe. Please, hear me. Not every guy at groove is alive.