Piggs Peak dressed itself for love every February. Red ribbons wrapped around street poles. Small shops displayed plastic roses and handwritten discounts. Couples walked close together, laughing softly, as if heartbreak were something that only happened elsewhere. Lwazi Maseko watched it all from beneath a raised car at Mthembu Motors, the largest garage in Piggs Peak. Oil stained his hands. Grease lived under his fingernails. He was only a mechanic assistant—cheap labor with strong hands and quiet dreams. And his dream had a name. Lindiwe Vilane. They had planned Valentine's Day together. Nothing fancy. A walk through town, roasted meat from a street vendor, music from his cracked phone speaker. Lwazi had saved for weeks to buy her a silver bracelet from a small shop near the bus rank.
"Love doesn't need money," Lindiwe had once said. Lwazi believed her. That belief would cost him everything.
The night before Valentine's Day, truth arrived without warning. A customer waiting for his car leaned against the counter and said casually, "Sipho Mthembu's been showing off a new girl in town. The whole of Piggs Peak is talking about it." Lwazi's heart skipped a beat. "Which girl?" he asked, though he knew.
The man chuckled. "That boutique girl. Lindiwe Vilane." The world went silent. The wrench slipped from Lwazi's hand and hit the concrete floor with a sharp clang. His heart pounded so loudly he thought others could hear it. "No," Lwazi said. "You're mistaken." But Piggs Peak was a small town. News didn't lie for long.
That night, photos flooded social media—Lindiwe in a fancy restaurant, laughing with Sipho Mthembu, sipping champagne. Lwazi sat on his bed until morning, staring at the bracelet meant for her. Still, he went to see her. Because love, even when broken, still hopes.
The next afternoon, he met her at the old football field near the edge of Piggs Peak. His friends stood nearby—not to fight, but to witness, to give him courage. A black Cadillac Escalade rolled in, shining like power itself. Sipho stepped out first—well dressed, confident, untouchable. Then Lindiwe followed. She looked beautiful. And distant.
Lwazi stepped forward. "Is it true?" he asked her. She hesitated. Sipho laughed. "You left work early for this?" he said loudly. "The garage boy thinks he deserves answers." Lwazi ignored him. "Lindiwe," he said.
Her voice was quiet. "I wanted more, Lwazi. You weren't giving it to me." Sipho wrapped an arm around her waist. "Love needs stability," he said. "Not dirty hands and broken promises." Laughter followed. Lwazi felt something collapse inside his chest—not loudly, but permanently. He turned and walked away. Behind him, the Escalade drove off, leaving dust and shame behind.
Valentine's Day arrived cold and grey in Piggs Peak. Lwazi reported to work early. He hoped exhaustion would dull the pain. Instead, Mr. Mthembu called him into the office. "My son says you embarrassed him," the rich man said calmly. "You'll work the full shift today. No leave." Lwazi nodded. So while Piggs Peak celebrated love, Lwazi fixed engines. While roses changed hands, his knuckles bled.
When night fell, the garage was quiet. Only the ticking of cooling metal kept him company. His phone buzzed. Lindiwe: "I never meant to hurt you. Please don't hate me." Lwazi stared at the message for a long time. Then he replied: "I don't hate you. I just wish I had mattered." She never answered.
Later that night, Lwazi walked alone through Piggs Peak. The streets were empty now. Love had gone home. He stopped at the old bridge outside town, the river moving slowly beneath it. He pulled the bracelet from his pocket and held it tightly. He remembered her laughter. Her promises. The way she once said his hands were strong because they worked honestly. The bracelet slipped from his fingers and vanished into the dark water. Lwazi followed. The next morning, Piggs Peak woke to tragedy. People whispered. They blamed heartbreak. They blamed poverty. They blamed weakness. No one blamed love.
Weeks later, at a fancy party, Lindiwe smiled beside Sipho as cameras flashed. But as their car passed the bridge on the edge of Piggs Peak, her chest tightened for reasons she could never explain. Some loves are too honest for this world. Some hearts break quietly. And some Valentine's Days leave behind no roses— only silence.
Make me a cover art ... A picture with Piggs peak town
