Ngaraka & the Town Girl!

Ngaraka & the Town Girl. (Image by V. Gladkov)

Ngaraka & the Town Girl!

University love? Please. Don’t make me laugh.  

Just drama. Pure drama. That’s all I remember.  

So, let me tell you about Ngaraka...you will see why, I don’t think much of it.  

Ngaraka. That guy. He knew the game. Or so he thought. Let’s see!  

He liked to pick them up. Girls. Like they were lost coins—off bar stools, street corners, after-parties, anywhere.  

If they smiled, he followed. If they staggered, he offered a hand. Every night—like a habit. A reckless one. 

Bars especially were his hunting grounds. Commonplace for loners and the vulnerable. Every time he passed by, he was sure to return with a stranger. A comforter. A fellow night dweller. For the night. Just a night.  

Then dispose of them early morning.  

But that’s not the story. Here’s the story.  

One day...it was at the start of a new university semester. Ngaraka, like everyone else, had just returned from home for the holiday.  

A typical student returning from home. Loaded with stacks of money—upkeep and hostel fees. It was an exciting time of the semester.  

He had his tuition too. In cash. He had thought of banking it—but tomorrow was coming. Surely. A custom ignored. Big mistake.  

In his wardrobe, he found his denims. He shoved the tuition and hostel fees deep into their pockets—like pocket change. Just like that. Safe, he thought. He was going to bank it in the first light of the coming morning.  

A habit missed. Longed for. Ngaraka could not wait any longer. As the evening rushed in at day’s end, Ngaraka made bar plans. He longed for someone to warm his bed.  

He found his favourite spot at the counter. Feeling good. Feeling fresh. Feeling rich. Ngaraka ordered a drink, then another and another. He looked around, scanning.  

He was wired. Buzzing. Ready. Itchy.  

Tapped his drink. Again. Again and again. Scanned. Any girls? Any girls?  

She stood at the center of the dance floor. She didn’t sit. She took over the space.  

Like him, she scanned.  

While she scanned. He scanned. Then—locked eyes. A moment. A trap. He smiled. She smiled.  

A town girl. And what a town girl!  

Tight jeans. Tiny top. Dark red lips. A cigarette in one hand, whiskey in the other. Weed tucked somewhere—like a secret she meant to share. What do you think? What did Ngaraka think?  

Looking back now—what a fool! But what a blunder! But what a fool!  

Together, they crossed the dance floor. He found a table. It was in the corner far from the counter. Far from disruption. She glided behind him. A lioness. A hunter. They sat. Two hunters lost in their games.  

Then whiskey. Shisha. Beer. A cigarette between her fingers, smoke curling, disappearing like Ngaraka’s common sense.  

The fool should have known.  

He had money. He bought. She drank. He bought again. She drank more. He bought more. She laughed. He laughed. Winning, he thought.  

The night drowned quickly in whiskey. And so did Ngaraka.  

There was a pause. She leaned in. 'Let’s go,' she whispered. Then louder: 'Your place.' Ngaraka grinned. It was happening.  

They staggered into the night. Arms tangled. Shadows held them close.  

Inside his room, she kicked off her heels, undressed slowly. Earrings off. Rings off. Everything off.  

Ngaraka sat on the bed. Watched. Felt lucky. The fool.  

She walked into the bathroom. "I’ll be right back," she promised.  

He nodded. Smiled. Unbuttoned his shirt. Lay back. Waited. The fool.  

And then—  

He gasped awake. Sunlight stabbed his eyes. Head pounding. Chest tight. Breath fast. Too fast.  

His throat—dry. His tongue—thick. His stomach—twisting.  

Something was off.  

He turned. The bed—messed up. The sheets—thrown aside.  

He jumped from the bed. Staggered up, feet unsteady. One step. Another. Head still spinning.  

The door to his room was open. He stepped through the doorway. Into the corridor.  

Stood there. Blinking. Dazed. A ghost of himself.  

And then—confusion.  

People in the corridor. Stopped. Stared. Ladies covered their eyes.  

Screams. Gasps. Sighs. Confusion. People pointing. At him.  

Ngaraka looked down. Naked. What?  

Ran back inside, heart pounding. His clothes—on the floor. Here a shirt, there boxers, yonder jeans. What had happened?  

His room? A disaster.  

Papers scattered. Shoes flung aside. Mattress shifted—someone had checked beneath. Drawers pulled open.  

His eyes shot to the wardrobe. The tuition. Hostel fees. He knew—did not want to see. Felt sick. His parents wouldn’t forgive this.  

He reached for the denims—the ones where he had stashed the tuition, the hostel fees. His hands trembled.  

It was gone. Every note. All his cash—gone. What would he tell his parents? 

That’s when the girl came back to mind. Where was she? He had last seen her walking naked into the bathroom. Was she still there? Of course not!  

But he had to check. Had to be sure. She wasn’t there. Of course not.  

Not just the wardrobe. His wallet lay on the floor—empty. She had wiped him clean. Everything. Penniless.  

Neighbours would later confess—they saw her leave around noon. So, she had stayed? Slept around?  

Yes, the town girl had slept beside him. Calm. Unbothered. Having undressed him, emptied his pockets, raided the wardrobe. Turned his room upside down.  

When Ngaraka woke up, it was actually 3 PM.  

Then—something he had missed. On the table.  

There it was. Breakfast—waiting.  

Bread. Eggs. A glass of milk.  

And a note. Yes—a note!  

"Thank you for last night, for everything," it read.  

Silence.  

As he reached for his boxers—it all came back.  

The last shot—it had been too sweet, too smooth. It went down easy. Too easy.  

Now, it made sense. While he played his game, she had played hers. And she had won.  

And you people still talk about university love? Love? Please. My foot! Just drama.  

EzroniX Short Stories – How we talk about Love.