28/07/2025
“The Girl Who Gave Me Extra Change”
(A Short Story by Mr. Hidden Feelings)
In the narrow corner of a bustling township in Lilongwe, behind a glass counter smudged by fingerprints and lined with lollipops and chewing gum, she stood—quiet, unbothered, and effortlessly graceful. She wasn’t the loud type. She didn’t need to be. Her presence was like the scent of blue Mazoe on a hot afternoon—soft, nostalgic, unforgettable.
I first met her when I stopped by a tiny shop to buy airtime. Gave her a K1000 note for a K700 voucher. She looked at me once, smiled softly, and handed me K4300 in return.
At first, I thought it was a mistake. My heart pounded. I did that mental calculation thing we all do when we don’t want to admit something is too good to be true. I walked away slowly… but faster than usual… like someone trying not to look suspicious on CCTV.
That day marked the beginning of our silent transaction of emotions.
It kept happening.
Every time I came, she gave me more change than I deserved. K600 instead of K300. K2000 instead of K1000. I knew it was wrong, but my wallet had never felt so right.
My friends called it a miracle. I called it a mystery.
And just when I started to believe it was fate, they said:
“Bro… maybe she’s crushing on you.”
So, I started going there with big notes.
A whole K5000 to buy sugar for K700.
I wasn’t even broke sometimes — but I was addicted to the way she smiled.
The way her hands trembled slightly when counting notes.
The way she never corrected the mistake.
One day, I cracked. I told her she had miscounted the change.
She looked up, smiled slyly, and said:
“You? Hypocrisy! You’ve been chewing people’s money silently and now you want to act innocent?”
I couldn’t even deny it. Her mom laughed from behind the curtain, sipping tea.
That was the closest I ever came to telling her the truth —
that I didn’t come for the change.
I came for her.
I told her, jokingly, “When I marry you, I won’t give you huge sums of money — to protect your counting skills.”
She blushed, laughed softly, and walked outside…
leaving her mom with me, and a shop full of unspoken feelings.
Time passed. She left for school.
I left Lilongwe and moved to Balaka.
Life happened. Adulting took over.
But not a single shopkeeper since has ever “accidentally” given me more change.
Only she did.
They say she sat for her MSCE this year.
She’s grown now. Probably a young woman chasing her dreams.
But I still remember her —
not because of the extra money…
but because she once made a broke university student feel seen, special, and smiled at — through silent gestures and messy math.
To the girl with the broken calculator,
You were the sweetest mistake I ever received. 💔
— Mr. Hidden Feelings
