Stanger, KwaZulu-Natal December 2040 - 10 Minutes Before the Exam Begins

  Stanger High School stood like a relic of contradictions—a place where history pressed against the present, where old scars met new ambitions. Founded in an era when the land itself bore the weight of segregation, its red-bricked walls had witnessed generations of students navigating a world that sought to define them before they could define themselves. Positioned just across from the KwaDukuza Police Station, it had once been a beacon of privilege for some, a barrier for others.

  Decades ago, it had been known for its prestigious drama, music, and sports programs—before the shooting ranges were introduced, training young boys to handle pistols. For what purpose? Against whom? Those questions lingered in the cracks of history, unspoken but never forgotten. Yet today, the school had transformed into something else entirely. It was now a proud, multicultural institution, alive with opportunity. A melting pot of religions, races, and ambitions, it remained one of KwaZulu-Natal's finest, balancing humble roots with a reputation that made it both sought-after and fiercely independent.

  Its learners stood apart—not because of privilege, but because of grit. The red, black, and white uniform commanded attention, but it was the students themselves who made Stanger High legendary. They were sharp, skilled, and wildly ambitious. Here, there were no private school luxuries, no silver spoons. Just raw talent, sharpened by challenge. It was a school that built achievers, creatives, and rebels—the kind of people who carved their own path.

  And now, as the December heat rolled in, that path led to a moment every matriculant both longed for and feared.

  The morning air was thick with summer humidity, the kind that clung to skin and made school uniforms feel heavier than they should. The Matric quad buzzed with tension—last-minute cramming, whispered anxieties, and the occasional forced laughter that barely masked the nerves beneath.

  A low mist curled at their feet, the dampness of dawn still fresh on the paving stones. Water pooled in cracks, left behind by the early sprinklers, shimmering in the weak morning sun. The world felt like it was holding its breath, waiting.

  The Ripple in the Water

  Siko adjusted the strap of her bag, the weight of textbooks pressing against her back as she strode across the school quad. The air was thick—not just with the summer heat, but with something heavier. Something she couldn't quite name.

  Final exams loomed, a finish line that felt both exhilarating and suffocating. The matric dance, the beach party, the plans for the future—all of it was rushing toward them. But beneath the excitement, beneath the countdown to freedom, Siko couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just the end of school. It was the end of something much bigger.

  "You know, physics is just applied common sense," Tamara mused beside her, twirling a pen between her fingers. The exam review sheet in her other hand betrayed the casual tone of her words.

  Siko smirked. "Tell that to Mr. Khumalo when he's marking your paper."

  They cut across the quad, where the jacaranda trees had scattered their lilac petals across the brick pathways. Underneath one of them, Lwazi and Ntobeko sat hunched over a thick textbook. The sight of Lwazi made something in Siko's chest tighten—not that she'd ever admit it.

  Tamara, effortlessly confident, waved dramatically. "Hey, geniuses!"

  Lwazi looked up, his usual easygoing grin in place. "Ah, the physics queen arrives," he teased, nodding at Siko. His voice was playful, but his eyes lingered on hers a fraction too long.

  Siko rolled her eyes. "And yet the king still hasn't figured out kinematics. Need help, Lwazi?"

  Before he could answer, Ntobeko spoke up, his tone dry. "Actually, we were just discussing how the coefficient of friction is the only thing standing between us and academic greatness."

  Tamara plopped onto the grass beside them, flipping a braid over her shoulder. "If anyone's gonna defy physics, it's Siko. Did you see her sparring video yesterday? Absolute madness."

  Lwazi raised an eyebrow. "Sparring? During finals? Aren't you supposed to be resting your brain?"

  "It helps me focus," Siko replied simply, lowering herself onto the grass.

  Ntobeko scoffed. "Your idea of focus is insane."

  Siko only shrugged. They didn't need to know how much she relied on movement to quiet her mind—to push away the nagging sense that something was coming. Something just beyond the horizon of exams and normal life.

  Lwazi stretched his arms behind his head, leaning back against the concrete pillar. "Bro, uzoyithola kanjani uhleli ekhoneni? If you don't know it by now, you're not going to know it in ten minutes."

  Ntobeko barely looked up from his notes, mumbling formulas under his breath as he flipped through his meticulously organized pages. "Repetition reinforces memory," he muttered. "You should try it sometime."

  Tamara checked her phone, effortlessly glamorous despite the dull school uniform. "Uyazi ukuthi ulungile though, Ntobeko. You always do this and you always ace it. Chill."

  The moment she spoke, the energy shifted.

  A voice, sharp and mocking, cut through their morning ritual.

  "Still hiding behind your notes, Nto?"

  A group of boys loomed closer, led by Bhekani—a walking headache of a human being. He was big, broad-shouldered, and fueled by the insecurities he hid behind loud bravado. His eyes locked onto Ntobeko's notes with a smirk. "Man, I swear you and those books. It's like a little love affair. Maybe get some real hobbies."

  Siko's muscles tensed.

  Ntobeko, to his credit, didn't flinch. He simply exhaled through his nose and kept flipping through his notes. "Some of us have futures that don't involve being another unemployed has-been," he said smoothly, not bothering to look up.

  Bhekani's smirk twisted into something uglier. "Oh? That's funny, 'cause last time I checked—"

  "Checked what? Your IQ score?" Siko's voice cut in like a blade. She stepped forward, the morning light catching the edge of her gaze. "Didn't know they allowed negatives."

  A few snickers from the crowd. Lwazi grinned, always ready to turn tension into entertainment.

  Bhekani's eyes flickered between them before settling on Ntobeko again. He leaned in just slightly. "Uyazi ukuthi after school is after school, akere?"

  The 5 minute-warning bell rang before anything more could be said. A reprieve. The universe had hit pause.

  "Guess we'll find out then," Ntobeko murmured, snapping his book shut. His jaw was tight, but he walked past Bhekani without another word.

  Siko's gaze lingered on Bhekani's crew as they dispersed, but her mind was elsewhere. That feeling—the one she'd been trying to ignore—pressed against her ribs again.

  A shift in the air.

  A ripple in the water.

  Kwasukasukela, cosi.

  The words weren't spoken, but they rang in her head, vibrating in her bones. She blinked, disoriented for half a second.

  Then, Lwazi slung an arm around her shoulder, his usual grin in place. "Alright, warriors, let's go destroy these exams so we can party properly tonight."

  Siko shook off the sensation and followed.

  Unseen behind her, a ripple spread through a puddle on the pavement—though nothing had touched it.

  Tamara clapped her hands, slicing through the tension. "Speaking of pre-exam jitters," she said with a sly grin, "I see my good luck charm."

  Siko followed her gaze to a Grade 10 boy leaning against the wall, his friends hyping him up. The moment Tamara strolled over, his cool composure wobbled, but he quickly pulled himself together, meeting her dazzling smile with a nervous but eager grin.

  "Oh, she's really doing this now?" Lwazi muttered, shaking his head.

  "She's unstoppable," Siko said, finally cracking a smile.

  "Yeah. Like you," Lwazi added, quieter this time.

  Siko turned to him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "You know what I mean," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "After school. The internship. Six months in KwaDukuza? I'm happy for you, but—"

  "But?"

  "But I'll miss you."

  Siko's heart skipped. "I haven't decided yet," she admitted. "It's either that, studying, or taking a gap year."

  "Right," Lwazi said, keeping his voice casual. "No pressure or anything, but—"

  The bell rang, cutting him off. Miss Omar's voice followed. "Matric learners, make your way to the exam hall."

  "Saved by the bell," Siko said, rising to her feet.

  "Literally," Lwazi muttered, grabbing his books.

  They joined the stream of students filing into the hall. The air shifted—whispers faded, footsteps softened, and the weight of the moment settled over them.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  The exam hall was an ocean of silence, disturbed only by the occasional shuffle of paper and the rhythmic ticking of the clock mounted on the far wall. Rows of desks stretched into the distance, each occupied by a student bent over their exam sheets, caught in the delicate dance between stress and concentration.

  Siko sat near the middle, pen poised above the paper. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her. She inhaled deeply, willing herself to focus.

  Miss Omar, her favorite teacher, stood near the front, arms folded as she observed the students with her ever-watchful gaze. A steady presence. A lighthouse.

  "Five."

  The hall seemed to stretch, the edges of her vision blurring.

  "Four."

  The overhead lights flickered.

  "Three."

  A strange heaviness pressed against her eyelids. Her vision dimmed. She blinked, but the shadows thickened.

  "Two."

  In the far corner, something shifted. A shape—tall, indistinct, wrong—rippled against the wall. And then came the voice. Faint. Insistent. Threading through her thoughts like a whisper.

  "Siko..."

  "One."

  Her eyes snapped open. The shadows were gone. Only the invigilator's voice filled the hall.

  "You may begin."

  Lwazi shot her a glance, concern flickering in his eyes.

  Siko forced a wink and picked up her pen. Whatever that was... she'd figure it out—after the exam.

  She exhaled slowly and focused on the paper in front of her. Equations, diagrams, short-answer questions. The first few came easily. She found her rhythm, blocking out everything else.

  Then—

  A whisper.

  Not from the room. Not from her classmates.

  It came from somewhere else, threading through the air like smoke.

  "Uyayazi into onayo?"

  Siko stiffened. Her vision blurred for a split second, the letters on the exam paper shifting like sand in the wind. The edges of the room rippled. The light above flickered.

  Water. Darkness. A shape forming in the deep.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the vision away, but the whisper returned, closer this time.

  "Kulungile. Sizofika isikhathi sakho."

  Her fingers clenched around her pen, knuckles white.

  Then—movement.

  At the far end of the hall, near the back row.

  A shadow. No, not just a shadow.

  A hyena.

  Its lean body slunk between the desks, its spotted coat rippling as it moved. It shouldn't have been there. It couldn't have been there. But it was.

  Siko's chair scraped against the floor as she shot to her feet.

  Miss Omar was suddenly beside her, firm fingers pressing into her shoulder.

  "Siko!"

  The name yanked her back.

  She blinked.

  No hyena. No shadow. Just the exam hall. Desks. Papers. The scratch of pens. Dozens of eyes on her, some confused, some amused.

  "You have seven minutes left," Miss Omar said, her voice clipped. "Sit down and focus."

  Siko sank back into her chair, her pulse hammering against her ribs. Exam stress. That's all this is.

  But then she looked at her exam paper.

  It was already filled in.

  Her own handwriting, neat and precise.

  Only... she didn't remember writing any of it.

  A chill licked up her spine.

  She raised her hand. "Miss Omar, can I go to the bathroom?"

  Miss Omar studied her for a moment before nodding. "Quickly."

  Siko shoved her completed exam paper into Miss Omar's hands and bolted, the humid corridor air hitting her like a slap.

  She was still sitting on a wooden bench outside when the bell rang, releasing a flood of students from the hall.

  Ntobeko spotted her instantly, his sharp eyes scanning her face.

  "What happened in there?" he asked, breathless.

  Siko forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just... exam stress."

  His brow furrowed, unconvinced, but he let it slide.

  Before the moment could linger, Tamara burst through the crowd, waving a small bottle of Southern Comfort like a war prize.

  "Guys! Please, can we celebrate properly? I need to get sloshed."

  Lwazi, who had just joined them, rolled his eyes. "You need to get a grip."

  Siko laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing.

  Even if she wasn't fine.

  Even if, for the rest of the day, she kept glancing over her shoulder, expecting to see something that shouldn't be there.

  The Aftermath

  Before she could fully catch her breath, Tamara's arms wrapped around her from behind.

  "Kuzolunga, mzala," Tamara murmured, squeezing her before pulling back. "You okay?"

  Siko groaned, pushing her cousin off playfully. "Aibo. Ngiright. You're too affectionate, maan."

  Tamara smirked. "It's called love, and you could use more of it. Anyway, you're coming with us tonight, right? No excuses this time."

  Siko sighed. "T, you know I don't really do parties—"

  "No. Not this time." Tamara folded her arms, her shades flashing as they re-enabled connection. "You're always training or studying. I swear, Siko, you live like some old monk. We are celebrating, and you are going to enjoy yourself."

  Before Siko could argue, the final bell rang. The doors to the exam halls burst open, and the school erupted into chaos. Voices filled the air—some cheering, some groaning about how hard the paper was.

  Phones buzzed. WhatsApp groups exploded with messages.

  Beach party. 7PM. No excuses.

  Tamara glanced at her notifications, grinning. "Well, well. People wanna know if I'll be there." Her glasses flickered with data—mentions, likes, messages from followers. "Obviously, I have to show up."

  Lwazi and Ntobeko pushed through the crowd toward them. Lwazi stretched dramatically. "Man, I need a drink already. That paper was a beast."

  Ntobeko smirked. "Ngiyazi ukuthi uthanda ukukhuluma, but I actually found it okay."

  Lwazi groaned. "Of course, you did." Then, glancing at Siko, he nudged her. "You good, champ? You zoned out in there."

  Siko forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just exam stress."

  Lwazi studied her for a second longer before letting it go. "Alright, well, let's roll. Tamara's spot first?"

  "Obviously," Tamara flipped her hair. "I'm not showing up looking like a schoolkid. We need to upgrade the vibes."

  With the decision made, they wove through the schoolyard, heading toward the parking lot, where Tamara's sleek car waited. The night had only just begun.

  The city pulsed with early evening life as the two cars wove through the streets, heading toward Umhlanga. Tamara's sleek coupe led the way, her music turned up just loud enough to feel like a pre-party warm-up. Siko sat in the passenger seat, arms folded, watching the blur of lights and movement outside.

  Behind them, Lwazi's car followed, bass thumping from his sound system as he and Ntobeko cracked jokes about the exam and the night ahead.

  Siko's gaze flicked to the city skyline, the golden hour fading into dusk. Between the buildings, where neon signs didn't reach, the shadows seemed to move. Not the usual flickers of traffic or pedestrians—something deeper, darker.

  She blinked, but the feeling lingered.

  "You're quiet," Tamara said, giving her a side glance.

  Siko hesitated. "Just tired."

  Tamara smirked knowingly. "Or maybe you're feeling a little... anxious?"

  Siko frowned. "What?"

  Tamara wiggled her eyebrows. "You know, about being alone with certain people tonight. Nudge nudge, wink wink."

  Siko groaned, rolling her eyes. "Hhayi maan, not this again."

  "I'm just saying," Tamara teased. "You never let yourself relax. Maybe tonight you should, I don't know, stop acting like a soldier and enjoy yourself?"

  Siko let out a breath, shaking off the lingering unease from the shadows. "What about you? Are you going straight into studying, or are you going to gap year with me?"

  Tamara leaned back, tapping the steering wheel. "I thought about it. But I don't want to waste time. Online studying lets me do both—business and school. Besides, you should be studying. You're the genius."

  Siko shrugged. "I don't know. I was thinking about astrophysics. Or quantum mechanics."

  Tamara whistled. "Casual. Just deciding between literally understanding the universe or bending reality as we know it."

  Siko chuckled softly but didn't reply. Truthfully, something else was pulling her. Something beyond studying.

  Something unknown.

  Arrival at Tamara's PlacePre-Game Rituals & Questionable Decisions

  KwaDukuza had evolved. By 2040, the city pulsed with a new kind of energy—electric cars gliding silently past murals splashed across old brick buildings, solar-powered taxis weaving through the streets, and rooftop gardens spilling over balconies like green waterfalls. Holographic billboards flickered with ads for VR vacations and biotech enhancements, but the real city was in the rhythm of its people—the street musicians, the market vendors, the families gathered outside corner cafés, arguing over soccer matches and politics.

  Tamara's penthouse, perched in the heart of it all, was a contradiction—luxury meets chaos. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the ocean, the city lights flickering below like a second sky. The designer furniture looked straight out of a showroom, but the scattered clothes, empty takeout boxes, and an impressive stack of energy drink cans gave it a lived-in warmth.

  She kicked open the door with a flourish. "Welcome to the land of the free."

  Lwazi and Ntobeko pulled in behind them, stepping out of Lwazi's car, gym bags slung over their shoulders.

  Ntobeko barely stepped inside before he flopped onto the couch, unzipping his bag. "And this," he said, pulling out a sleek black case, "is what celebration looks like."

  Siko raised an eyebrow. "What's in there?"

  Ntobeko smirked as he popped it open. Inside: four shot glasses, two bags of cannabis, a grinder, OCB rolling papers, a dry herb vape, gum, and sapphire-blue eye drops.

  Lwazi let out a sharp laugh. "You beautiful bastard. I love you."

  Ntobeko fist-bumped him. "Back at you, my guy."

  Tamara barely glanced over her shoulder. "Alright, you two. Make yourselves comfortable, but not too comfortable. We're changing."

  Lwazi grinned. "I mean, we could all change together—"

  Siko shoved him toward the hallway. "Not happening."

  Ntobeko sighed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Come, bro. Let's go before we get kicked out completely."

  The Boys' Pre-Game Ritual

  In the guest room, Ntobeko finished changing first, rolling up his sleeves as he reached into his gym bag. He pulled out a small leather case, unzipped it, and started grinding fresh cannabis.

  Lwazi raised an eyebrow, nodding in approval. "See, this is why I mess with you. Always ready with the remedy."

  Ntobeko smirked, rolling a spliff with the precision of someone who had done it a thousand times. "Life's about balance, mfethu."

  He sparked it, inhaling slowly before passing it over. Lwazi took a deep drag, exhaling toward the ceiling. "Now this is how you pre-game."

  The Waiting Game & The Final Touches

  Lwazi glanced at his phone. "Why do they take so long?"

  Before Ntobeko could answer, the bedroom door finally swung open.

  Tamara stepped out first, effortlessly stunning, followed by Siko, who was clearly trying to downplay how good she looked.

  Tamara twirled the Azul bottle in her hand. "Hope you boys didn't die from boredom."

  Siko smirked. "Or from impatience."

  Lwazi waved the half-smoked spliff. "We had entertainment."

  They stepped onto the balcony, passing the spliff around, the ocean breeze mixing with the scent of cannabis and salt air. They left half of it in the ashtray—a ritual, a moment before the night officially began.

  Siko leaned against the railing, looking out over the city. The shadows still felt too deep, too alive. Something was watching.

  She shook the feeling off as Tamara clinked her glass against hers.

  "To new beginnings, cousin."

  Siko exhaled slowly, staring out at the vast, endless city.

  "To new beginnings."