Our Story is available in 2 versions: English above, Afrikaans below. Feel free to choose whichever is more convenient. Ons Storie is beskikbaar in 2 weergawes: Engels bo, Afr onder dit. Lees asb die weergawe wat mees gemaklik is.

Let’s rewind to the year 2000: the world had just survived Y2K, Nokia 3310s were indestructible, and a wide-eyed ten-year-old from Pomfret moved to Jan Kempdorp and landed in the same classroom as a certain other wide-eyed ten-year-old. Destiny? Maybe. But for the next few years, they existed in the same academic orbit—exchanging roughly the same number of words as your average houseplant. There were no sparks, no primary school love letters, no dramatic high school hallway glances. Just good old-fashioned mutual silence. Classic slow burn. Emphasis on slow. Flash forward to 2019. Sunita was building a PC and needed someone to double-check her specs. Her usual IT guy was unavailable, and the mutual friend—one who had been plotting to reintroduce these two for over a year—finally saw her moment. Her logic? “You both like the same horrible screaming music and computer stuff. That’s basically marriage.” Skeptical but desperate for validation (about the PC, not life), Sunita asked for Marius’s number. He confirmed her build was solid, offered a few pointers, and just like that, she had a shiny new gaming machine, affectionately dubbed Vlad the Tech-paler. Grateful, Sunita tried to thank him—with coffee, brandy, biltong, interpretive dance (probably). A few months went by with his shyness outweighing his curiosity... Then, in July 2020—six months after the first tech message (not because Sunita is allergic to social media and responds to messages like a dial-up modem, no matter what he says!)—Marius finally agreed to come over for coffee. Blame courage, timing, or simply burning curiosity, but that Friday coffee changed everything. It was the start of something beautifully unexpected. He came over that day… and then again the next Friday… and the next... After a few months of coffee, companionship, and Sunita starting to wonder if he was ever going to officially ask her out, she casually brought it up. Marius, slightly surprised, figured they were dating—wasn’t it obvious? Thus began their ongoing and never-settled debate: is their anniversary July 24th, the date of that first coffee, or October 16th, when he finally sealed the deal with official words? (They’ve agreed to disagree. Mostly.) Jump to December 30th, 2024: Marius, master strategist, roped in Sunita’s nieces to distract her mid-cooking session—a feat in itself, considering her laser focus on what was either a culinary masterpiece or a mild fire hazard. In the other room, he transformed the living room into a proposal-worthy scene. She, of course in peak glamour mode: pajamas, hair resembling a distant relative of a bird’s nest, not a stitch of makeup—the absolute epitome of feminine grace, emerged to find him on one knee. With some dry commentary about hard tile floors and aging knees, he asked her the biggest question of their lives. The answer, of course, was yes. And now, here they are—two small-town kids who took a scenic 20-year detour to find each other, ready to build a life full of laughter, late night gaming, questionable humour and just the right amount of heavy metal to make the neighbours nervous.

Kom ons draai tyd so bietjie terug na 2000: Die wêreld het net-net Y2K oorleef, almal het op hul Nokia 3310's gespeel, en ’n grootoog 10-jarige dogtertjie van Pomfret (letterlik die middel van nêrens) het na Jan Kempdorp toe getrek (ook nêrens, maar met 'n paar meer mense en dalk 'n Shoprite). In 'n graad 4-klas het sy en ’n sekere ander 10-jarige se paaie gekruis. Noodlot? Wie weet. Maar die volgende paar jaar was daar nie veel aksie nie—hulle was net twee kinders in dieselfde klas, wat omtrent so gereeld gepraat het soos twee potplante. Geen vonke nie. Geen liefdesbriefies in laerskool of 'flirtery' in hoërskool gange nie. Net daardie goeie ou, ongemaklike stilte. ’n Klassieke stadige aanloop—die soort wat slakstadig beweeg. Rol vorentoe na 2019. Sunita besluit sy wil ’n nuwe rekenaar bou en het net iemand nodig om haar spesifikasies te 'double-check'. Haar gewone IT-ou is nie beskikbaar nie, so sy doen wat enige rasionele mens sou doen—sy stuur ’n boodskap aan daai vriendin wat al meer as ’n jaar probeer om haar en Marius weer aan mekaar voor te stel. Die vriendin se logika? “Julle hou albei van daai aaklige geskree-musiek en rekenaardinge. Dis of ’n perfekte pas of ’n ramp… maar iets sê vir my dis altwee.” Sunita, effe skepties maar desperaat vir tegniese goedkeuring (oor die rekenaar, nie haar lewe nie), vra toe vir Marius se nommer. Hy gee die groen lig, sê alles lyk goed, en ’n paar weke later staan daar ’n splinternuwe gaming PC wat sy liefdevol doop as 'Vlad die Tech-paler'. Sy probeer hom bedank—koffie, brandewyn, biltong, 'n dramatiese seremonie met 'n aanbod van ridderskap (swaard en al)... Maar die ou is skaam, en ses maande gaan verby waarin hy heel skelm net onder die radar bly... En toe, in Julie 2020—ses maande ná daai eerste IT-boodskap (en nee, dis nie net omdat Sunita nie juis van sosiale media hou en WhatsApp-boodskappe beantwoord soos iemand wat eers ’n morele debat voer met elke emoji nie... al sal Marius so sê)—stem hy uiteindelik in vir koffie. Hoekom? Moed? Nuuskierigheid? Covid-verveeldheid? Wie weet. Maar daai Vrydag-koffie was ’n game-changer. Hy’t daardie dag kom kuier... toe weer die volgende Vrydag... en toe weer... Na ’n paar maande van koffie en gesels en ’n paar “is ons nou actually gekys of wat?” wonder oomblikke, vra Sunita hom toe heel terloops of hy miskien ooit gaan vra of hulle uitgaan. Marius, heel verbaas, sê: “Ek dog ons doen al?” En só begin die groot debat van hulle verhouding: Is hulle herdenkingsdatum nou 24 Julie (eerste koffie) of 16 Oktober (toe hy dit regtig amptelik gemaak het)? Tot vandag toe is daar nie ’n finale besluit nie—net baie hardkoppigheid. Toe, op 30 Desember 2024, besluit Marius—meesterstrateeg van formaat—dis nou of nooit. Hy span Sunita se niggies in om haar besig te hou tussendeur ’n kook-sessie— wat óf ’n meesterstuk óf ’n klein noodgeval in wording kon wees. Intussen verander hy die sitkamer in ’n romantiese toneel wat selfs Pinterest sou beïndruk. En Sunita? In volle glorie: pajamas, hare wat lyk soos ’n voëlnes met ’n identiteitskrisis, nie ’n greintjie grimering in sig nie. ’n Ware visioen van rou skoonheid. Sy stap in… en daar wag hy—op een knieg, met ’n paar droë opmerkings oor harde teëlvloere, ou knieë, en haar unieke humorsin—om toe die belangrikste vraag van hul lewens te vra. Die antwoord was natuurlik: JA! En nou is hulle hier—twee Jan Kempenare (Jan Kempeniete?) wat ’n 20 jaar lange draai moes vat om mekaar weer te vind. Reg om ’n lewe saam te bou vol geluk, laatnag gaming, sarkasme, twyfelagtige humor, en net genoeg heavy metal om die bure senuweeagtig te maak.