Nandipha



“Hey.”

I turned around and saw a guy running over to my direction. “Hi,” he says as he gets closer, flashing a warm smile. My heart skips a beat; it’s not every day that someone shows interest in a girl like me. I am slender, and I don’t typically wear trendy clothes unless it’s a special occasion.

I haven’t had a real boyfriend before, but I yearn for my soulmate—someone who will be all mine. “Hi,” I respond meekly. The guy is older, probably old enough to be my dad, but as they say, love knows no age.

I’m well aware that getting into a relationship with an older guy isn’t the wisest choice, especially since I’m only 15, but he doesn’t seem to care. “You are beautiful,” he says, looking at me with admiration. I blush; compliments are rare for me. I don’t consider myself ugly; I have features that I’m content with—a small nose, hazel eyes, and a delicate beauty mark on my cheek. My lips are soft and plump. But guys never seem interested in me, especially if I don’t have the curves or a fuller figure that they desire.

My aunt, who raised me as her own, always advises, “Nandipha, you must eat. Have some pap, and you’ll put some meat on your bones.” I do eat, I want to tell her, but no matter how much I consume, I can never seem to gain weight. I’m stuck around 45-50 kg on the scale. The clinic nurse often remarks about my frailness and insists that I need to eat more.

Lost confidence is something I’ve carried for a long time, and it’s not solely because of my HIV status. I take my medication diligently and I am undetectable, but the stigma remains. Nobody wants to be with an HIV-positive person, even though there’s no risk of transmission.

Low self-esteem has become a constant companion, and I don’t see anything that will change that. “Thank you,” I respond to the guy’s compliment.

“Can I have your number?” he asks, handing me his phone. I nod and enter my number, trying to hide my excitement. “And what’s your name, beautiful?”

“Nandipha. Please, you should turn around now,” I say, feeling a bit uneasy at the thought of my grandmother seeing me.

“Okay, I’m Tebogo. I’ll call you later,” he says, finally turning away. As I walk back home, I can’t help but smile, not believing that I might have found someone who sees beauty in me.