My way. A journey through life from Johannesburg to Cape Town - страница 10

“Do you think we made the right call?” I asked, breaking the silence.

He looked up from the papers scattered across the desk, his expression unreadable. “I trust your judgment, Eugénie. You see angles I often overlook. But yes, this one feels… precarious.”

The admission surprised me. Konstantin rarely voiced uncertainty, and his vulnerability in that moment deepened my respect for him.

“We’ve weathered worse,” I said, offering a reassuring smile. “And if this doesn’t work, we’ll find another way. We always do.”

For a moment, his gaze lingered on mine. “You have an unwavering faith, Eugénie. It’s what keeps me grounded.”

A MOMENT OF FRICTION

Despite our mutual respect, there were times when our differences in approach led to conflict. One afternoon, during a heated discussion about the prioritisation of projects, our voices rose above the usual calm cadence.

“You’re too focused on the immediate results,” he said, his tone sharper than I had ever heard it. “Sometimes you need to see the bigger picture.”

“And you,” I countered, my voice firm but measured, “are too quick to dismiss the importance of details. Without them, your grand visions won’t stand the test of time.”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the tension of unspoken emotions. Finally, Konstantin exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice softening. “It’s your attention to detail that has brought us this far. I’m sorry if I’ve seemed dismissive. You challenge me, Eugénie, and I need that more than I’d like to admit.”

I nodded, the tension easing. “And I need your vision to remind me of what we’re working toward. Together, Konstantin, we make this work.”

A CHILD’S WISDOM

One of the greatest joys of our work was the connection we built with the communities we served. The children, in particular, brought a sense of wonder and simplicity to even the most difficult days. There was one boy, Teboho, whose bright eyes and infectious laughter had captured my heart.

One evening, as I sat beneath a baobab tree, reviewing plans for the next phase of construction, Teboho approached me.

“You look sad, Miss Eugénie,” he said, his small voice filled with concern.

I smiled, touched by his sincerity. “Not sad, Teboho. Just thinking.”

He tilted his head, his curiosity evident. “Thinking is good, but too much thinking makes you tired. My papa says when you’re tired, you should laugh. Do you want to hear a joke?”

I laughed, his earnestness lifting the weight from my shoulders. “I would love that.”

Teboho’s joke was nonsensical, the kind only a child could tell, but it brought genuine laughter bubbling to the surface. As he ran off to join his friends, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. Sometimes, it was the smallest moments that reminded us why we persevered.

REFLECTIONS AND RESOLVE

That evening, the world outside seemed to hold its breath. The fire in the hearth cast a warm glow across the room, its flickering light dancing on the walls like silent echoes of dreams yet to be realised. Through the tall windows, the night stretched endlessly, the quiet beauty of the landscape shrouded in a serene, almost ethereal stillness.

Konstantin entered the room, his footsteps soft against the polished floor. He carried with him an aura of calm, though beneath it I knew lay the unrelenting energy of a man whose dreams were larger than life itself. He moved with a quiet purpose, settling into the chair opposite mine as though the weight of his ambitions had no claim on him that evening.