27. Savion

TWENTY-SEVEN

SAVION

The sun bakes the earth beneath my boots, turning the dirt a deep, rusty red. A distant ridge cuts the horizon, its jagged peaks softened by a haze of heat. The wind carries the faint scent of dry grass and something else—something wild. I glance up, squinting at the wide, endless sky. It's impossibly clear, the kind of blue that feels like it goes on forever, interrupted only by the occasional speck of a soaring bird.

I crouch back down, focusing on the fragment of bone peeking out from the soil. My brush moves in slow, deliberate strokes. Each sweep of bristles whispers across the surface of the fossil, revealing more of the ancient shape hidden beneath centuries of dirt. It's delicate work, a dance between patience and precision.

"Savion, uyasebenza ?" a voice calls out behind me. I recognize the deep, easy tone even before I turn to see Tumelo, one of the local team members, striding over. His Zulu flows like water, quick and rhythmic as he compliments my hard work. He's tall, with broad shoulders and dark, smooth skin that gleams under the relentless sun. His close-cropped hair is speckled with dust, and his strong hands bear the signs of years spent working under the same harsh elements we all endure here. A small smile pulls at the corners of his lips, the kind of smile that makes you feel like you're in on some quiet joke only he understands.

" Yebo ," I reply, offering a tight smile. Sure. That's about the extent of my Zulu, but I try. God knows I've tried. I'll never be fluent, though. Languages tangle in my brain, turning into a mess of half-formed sentences and misplaced verbs. Give me science and history any day.

Tumelo flashes a grin and drops into a crouch beside me, gesturing toward the fossil. " Ngabe singalibona nini ?" he asks, tilting his head with curiosity.

I squint at him, a frown tugging at my lips as I mutter under my breath, trying to piece together his words. "How long is it?" I guess what he's asking, my mind racing to find a connection.

Tumelo's laughter rings out, deep and warm. "Ah, not quite! It means, ‘When can we see it?'"

I chuckle, scratching the back of my head, embarrassed. "Right. When can we see it? Well, it's still caked in dirt. Not long. Maybe another hour?"

"Good, good!" Tumelo nods enthusiastically, his smile brightening like the afternoon sun. "We'll uncover its secrets soon. Just like in life, sometimes we need to dig a little to see the beauty hidden beneath."

I can't help but grin back, feeling the warmth of his words settle in. "You're right. Just takes a little effort, doesn't it?"

"Exactly," he says. "Savion, uyasebenza ! You are working!" He claps my shoulder lightly and moves on to help another team member.

I sit back for a moment, stretching my back, and take in the scene around me. The steady rhythm of the dig fills the air—the scrape of trowels on dirt, the soft murmur of conversations in languages I only half understand. I glance at the distant thorn trees, their spindly branches casting long shadows on the ground as the light shifts. The red soil stretches out before me, as far as the eye can see, dotted with patches of dry grass and the occasional flutter of wings from a bird in flight.

For a second, the air feels heavy, almost sacred, like the earth itself is holding its breath. I've always been drawn to places like this, where the past whispers just beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered. There's something ancient here—something bigger than me, bigger than all of us. It makes me feel connected, part of an unbroken chain of history.

My mind drifts to what I've read about this country and its people. The Babemba ritual comes to mind, almost as if the land itself is reminding me. Forgiveness. The idea that when someone does wrong, they aren't cast out—they're brought to the center. The whole community gathers around, speaking only of their good deeds and their strengths. It's a process of healing, not punishment. They celebrate the person, lift them up, and welcome them back.

I can't help but marvel at the simplicity and the depth of it—an entire village circling someone who has done wrong, not to condemn them, but to remind them of their worth.

Forgiveness, a word that feels heavy on my tongue, yet light at the same time. My dad always used to say that forgiveness wasn't about the person who wronged you. It was about letting go for your own sake, for your own peace.

But could I ever do that? Could I ever forgive Brock or Haley? The thought lingers, sharp and uncomfortable, like a splinter in my mind.

A shadow falls over the fossil, pulling me from my thoughts. I look up to see Thandi, one of our team leaders. Her hair is tied back, her hands on her hips as she surveys the dig. " Ufuna amanzi ?" she asks, holding out a bottle of water.

"Yes, please," I answer, grateful for the distraction. She hands it to me, and I take a long drink, feeling the cool water ease the tightness in my chest.

Sweat clings to my skin, the South African sun relentless even in the late afternoon. I close my eyes for a second, letting the sounds of the dig site wash over me. The scrape of trowels, the distant hum of voices slowly fade into the background, and for the first time in a while, I allow my mind to drift. And where it goes is inevitable.

Declan.

The last time I saw him, he looked so… gutted. As if I'd punched him in the gut when I suggested we take some time. I thought it'd be for the best—traveling halfway around the world to South Africa, I told him, would give us time to think. Figure things out. But the truth is, I was running. And he knew it.

On the morning of my flight, he didn't come to say goodbye. Not in person, at least. Instead, he sent an Uber to pick me up. I still remember standing on the curb outside my apartment, the cool LA breeze brushing past as I watched the car pull up. For a second—just one fleeting second—I'd hoped it would be him inside, that he'd throw open the door and tell me he couldn't let me leave like this. But when the door clicked open, it was just the driver, offering me a polite smile.

Disappointment had hit me harder than I wanted to admit. But I understood. Of course I did. Declan was respecting my request for space, being the considerate, thoughtful man he always was. Declan, always so careful with people's feelings, even when he was hurting.

God, he's such a beautiful human being.

And maybe two weeks is enough time for him to figure out that I'm not the one for him. I tell myself that again, even though the thought of it tightens something in my chest.

I shake my head, trying to focus. I'm here for a reason. Two weeks at this dig, part of a larger project, a rotating crew, but it's more than that. It's my work. This, right here, this fossil in the dirt, this history waiting to be unearthed—it's what I'm good at.

But it's quiet now. And in the silence, it's hard to ignore the gnawing ache of missing someone you shouldn't have let go of in the first place.

I rise from where I've been crouching for hours and brush the dust from my knees. The dig is slow, meticulous work, but I find a strange sort of peace in it.

Tumelo stands nearby, leaning casually against a rock with a faint smile on his face. He's been patient with me, offering guidance when needed but never hovering.

" Unjani ?" Tumelo asks. How are you doing?

I nod, smiling back. " Ngiyaphila ." I'm fine. My accent is probably terrible, but Tumelo only chuckles.

"You are improving," he says, his English smooth but accented. "Soon, you will speak like a local."

I smile. "Doubt it," I reply, returning to my work. "Languages aren't really my thing."

Tumelo's laughter is deep and warm, like a low rumble of thunder. "No one expects perfection, Savion. Only effort."

Only effort.

The words linger in the air long after Tumelo turns back to his work. Only effort. It sounds simple enough, but it hits me harder than I expect. I've always been the type to demand perfection from myself. In my career, in the field—it's why I'm good at what I do. I can't leave things half-done. I can't settle for "good enough." But life… life isn't like that.

Only effort.

It makes me think of Declan. I've spent the last two weeks convincing myself that giving him space was the right thing to do. That stepping back was protecting both of us. But maybe… maybe I was just too scared to try. To risk the effort.

Declan isn't looking for perfection. He's never asked for that from me. If anything, he's the first person who's ever made me feel like it's okay to be a little messy, a little unsure. With him, I didn't have to be flawless. I could just be.

But I ran anyway. Because I was too afraid of failing. Too afraid of not being enough.

I sit back on my heels, staring down at the dirt beneath my hands. The bones we've been uncovering are delicate, centuries old, and yet they're still here, still intact. The work we do is slow, painstaking, but it's worth it. We make progress, bit by bit, with patience and care.

Isn't that what a relationship is supposed to be? Effort, not perfection?

Declan deserves more than me pulling away every time things get hard. He deserves someone willing to put in the work, even when it's uncomfortable. Maybe especially then. He's always been so damn patient, giving me room to figure myself out, respecting my need for space even when I can see how much it hurt him.

Only effort.

Maybe that's all I need to give. Not a perfect version of myself, not someone who has everything figured out, but someone willing to try. To show up, even when it's hard. Even when I don't have all the answers.

I look over at Tumelo, still working quietly beside me, and wonder if he has any idea how profound his words were. Probably not. But they're sticking with me. Like a slow burn, they're changing the way I see things.

Effort is what's been missing. Not just with Declan, but in how I've been living. I'm always waiting for the right moment, the perfect circumstance—when the truth is, I just need to try.

"The land here…" Tumelo says, interrupting my thoughts, "it holds our history." His eyes scan the horizon. "Every stone, every grain of sand—our ancestors walk with us."

I pause, feeling the weight of his words. There's something about this place, something that makes time feel different. It's as if the past, present, and future are all intertwined, and I'm just one small part of that thread.

We work in silence for a while longer, the sound of trowels scraping the dirt filling the space between us. Then, as the shadows grow longer, we break for dinner. The team has gathered near the campsite, where a small fire crackles in the fading light. Someone passes me a plate of food—bobotie, I think, spiced ground meat baked with a custard-like topping. It smells incredible, rich with curry and the sweetness of fruit.

I take a bite, savoring the warmth and the unexpected blend of flavors. The sweetness of the dried fruit balances the spiciness perfectly, and I'm reminded again how far I am from the world I know. But here, in this moment, it feels… right. Like I'm meant to be here, like this place is becoming part of me.

I catch snippets of conversation in Zulu and Afrikaans, some of the younger members laughing as they tease each other. Tumelo joins in, his deep voice booming as he tells a joke that has everyone chuckling. I don't understand all of it, but the camaraderie is contagious, and I smile despite myself.

Declan's face floats to the surface of my mind, unbidden. I see his eyes, that moment when I told him we needed space, how his whole expression crumpled before he quickly masked it with a smile. I didn't even give him a chance to fight for us. Hell, I didn't give myself a chance.

A handful of days apart, and I'm missing him like crazy. His laugh, his touch, the way he listens without judgment. Declan is… he's different. Special. He sees me in ways no one else ever has.

I told him I'll understand if he moved on. But even as I think it, there's a tug in my chest, a soft ache that won't go away. The truth is, I don't want him to move on. I don't want him to forget about me.

The fire burns low, the conversation around me fading as the team drifts off to their tents. I stay behind for a moment longer, staring at the flames as they dance and flicker in the night air.

Declan.

I don't have all the answers, not by a long shot. But maybe… maybe it's time I stop running.