Valleys of Silence : The Move to Nylstroom

Skeerpoort carries a different kind of silence.

It isn’t empty. There’s always some kind of movement - the dry grass shifting in the wind, insects humming like they know something we don’t, the mountains sitting still as if they’re watching everything without reacting. The air feels heavy, like this place has been here too long and has seen too much.

Like it has seen this before. Like it has seen him before.

The morning arrived cautiously - as if fearing to offend the night. It stretched into bruised blue skies and thin clouds dragging themselves across it like hesitation. The kind that promise rain but never quite deliver.

The ground waited anyway.

So did I.

“You’re up early,” I said, stepping onto the veranda, the wood cool beneath my bare feet.

He didn’t turn. Just leaned into the railing, elbows resting, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the mountains.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

A pause.

He shrugged, but there was nothing casual about it. It was measured. Like everything about him lately.  

“New place,” he said. “Takes time.”

I watched him closely - not the version I thought I knew, but the one that showed when he stopped trying. His shoulders were tense, like he was carrying something. His eyes didn’t just scan the view - they seemed to look straight through it.

“You always say that,” I murmured.

“Say what?”

“That it’s just the place.”

This time he turned and there it was again, that almost softness. That almost honesty.

“What else would it be?”

I didn’t answer.

Because the truth was no longer something I could say without consequence. It had begun to feel like a door. One that, once opened, would not close again.

The wind shifted, carrying a faint scent of rain that still refused to fall. Somewhere far off, a dog barked - sharp, urgent - before disappearing into the open land.

We stood there longer than we should have.

Together. But not the same.

“Do you ever think about going back?” I asked.

The question felt misplaced the moment it left me.

“To what?” he replied.

“Before.”

He let out something close to a laugh, but without humour.

“There is no ‘before’,” he said. “Not anymore.”

“That’s convenient.”

His jaw tightened.

“You think I chose this?”

I met his eyes. Held them.

“I think there’s a lot you haven’t told me.”

It didn’t come out angry. It didn’t need to. It carried something heavier than confrontation.

For a moment, I thought he might say something real.

Instead—

“That’s not fair.”

A small smile touched my lips, but it didn’t belong there.

“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”

And just like that, the silence changed.

It no longer held us.

It separated us.

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By afternoon, the heat had settled in fully. The kind that slows everything down, including thought. The house creaked softly, adjusting to the weight of the day.

Inside felt cooler, but not safer.

I sat at the table, tracing invisible lines into the wood, listening to nothing and everything all at once.

Then—

His phone buzzed.

Once.

Then again.

He was in the shower. Water hitting tile in a steady rhythm. Consistent. Uninterrupted.

I stayed still.

Told myself I wouldn’t move.

The phone buzzed again.

Louder this time. Or maybe just harder to ignore.

I stood slowly.

The device lay face down. 

I hesitated.

Then turned it over.

A name appeared.

An  unfamiliar one that felt wrong in a way I couldn’t explain.

The message preview was brief.

We need to talk. It’s not over.

My chest tightened, something cold settling just beneath it.

The water stopped.

I flipped the phone back instantly, stepping away just as he walked out, steam trailing behind him like something that refused to let go.

“You good?” he asked.

“Fine,” I said.

He didn’t move.

“Something’s off.”

“Everything’s off,” I replied lightly, though nothing about me felt light. “We’re hiding in Skeerpoort pretending this is temporary. That’s enough to make anyone feel… off.”

His gaze lingered. 

“You don’t trust me.”

Not a question.

I held his eyes.

“I don’t know what I’m trusting.”

That landed.

You could feel it shift the room.

He raked his fingers through his hair. It’s actually my first time seeing it this long.

“I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“From what?”

A pause.

“From things you don’t need to be involved in.”

I let out a small laugh. It didn’t sound like mine.

“I am already involved,” I said. “You made sure of that the moment we ran.”

Something flickered across his face.

Not anger. Something closer to guilt.

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me,” I said. “Because right now, it feels like I’m standing in the middle of a story that only you’ve read.”

Outside, the wind picked up again, bending the trees just enough to remind them they were not in control. The sky darkened slightly, clouds gathering without urgency.

A storm.

Or the promise of one.

He stepped closer, voice lower now.

“Some things are better left alone.”

I stepped back.

“No,” I said quietly. “Some things are just easier for you if they are.”

That was the moment.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just final in a way that doesn’t need permission.

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That evening, the rain came - but only briefly. Soft and uncertain, like even the sky wasn’t ready to commit. It touched the ground and disappeared. Just like everything else here.

We packed in silence.

Not discussed. Not explained.

Just understood.

Nylstroom.

Another place.

Another version of this life.

“Wear something simple tomorrow,” he said at one point, folding clothes with precision. “Don’t draw attention.”

I watched him.

“And what exactly am I meant to be?” I asked.

He didn’t hesitate.

“My girl.”

The words settled between us.

Heavy.

Wrong.

Something in me shifted - not loudly, not visibly - but permanently.

Because in that moment, it became clear—

I wasn’t being protected.

I was being positioned.

That night, I lay awake long after he had fallen asleep.

The house had returned to its stillness, Skeerpoort reclaiming its silence like it had been waiting to.

Beside me, he turned slightly, caught between sleep and something deeper.

And then—

softly, carelessly—

a name slipped from his lips.

Not mine.

I stared into the dark, the truth settling into me with quiet precision.

“When someone tells you to start acting like their girl…”

I exhaled slowly.

“…remember—ghosts don’t have names.”

Outside, the mountains said nothing.

But this time—

I understood why.