The hotel room hums with the low drone of the AC. Outside, Johannesburg glows — a city that doesn't know your name, your history, or your wife. You've opened Tinder for the first time. The blue light of your phone is the only thing cutting through the dark. Each swipe feels like a small betrayal and a small relief at once. Then — a match. Kgadi. Tall, warm eyes, a smile that looks like it means something. Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a long moment. Back home, my wife is probably already asleep. Here, ten thousand kilometres away, you finally type: *Hey, how's it going?* The message sends. You set the phone down. Your heart doesn't slow.