SMOLDERING IN A DARK ALLEY
F oxam let out a deep sigh of desperation and hopelessness as she paced around the curtain-less kitchen corridor of her dad's home. The same thoughts that had kept her awake all night was making her nauseous and weak in the knees. She had begun to like Bugalu a lot more than she expected. As an old-fashioned African woman, she had been raised to be shy, restrained and in utmost control of her emotions and desires. But Bugalu had made her a complete opposite of her true self; well technically he didn't, her emotions did. They had known each other for a little over 3 months, and being the 18th century gentleman that he was; Bugalu would give Foxam a quick call each morning on his way to work, a couple of text messages during the day and a 30 to 45 minutes call each night before bed. But Foxam felt like they had known each other for ages and never had enough of these calls; always yearning for more. They met through one of the most unorthodox means in this part of th
