Distraction Comes in Flesh
Angela didn't plan to see them together.
She was walking past Faculty of Law, trying to catch a bolt to the market, when she saw Peter leaning against a car, laughing. Not smiling — laughing.
And the girl in front of him?
Light-skinned. Long nails. Curved in all the right places. And very, very familiar.
Sandra.
Peter's ex.
The one who left for IT six months ago. The one everyone said he was "deeply entangled with." The one who once posted him with "My Peace. My Chaos." as the caption.
And now? She was back.
Angela stopped in her tracks, heart loud. Peter didn't see her. Or maybe he did and didn't care. Sandra reached forward and touched his chest as she laughed at something he said. Her hand stayed there a bit too long.
Angela turned and walked away fast. She didn't wait to see more.
Her chest burned. Not from heartbreak — but from something darker.
Disgust. Anger. Confusion.
By the time Peter texted her later that evening, she had already decided what she was going to say.
Peter: Hey. You okay? Didn't see you today.
She replied:
Angela: Oh I saw you.
With her.
It didn't take two minutes for his call to come through.
Angela answered on the second ring. No greetings.
Peter's voice came soft. "So you're angry."
"I'm not angry," she said. "I just don't like surprises. Or lies."
"Angela, I wasn't lying—"
"You didn't tell me she was back."
"I didn't think it mattered."
She laughed — that low, bitter kind of laugh. "Of course you didn't. Because it's easy for you. You get to say all the sweet things, make me feel like the only one, and then still laugh in public with your ex like nothing happened."
Peter's voice shifted. "So now I'm the villain?"
"No. You're just… fake."
Silence.
Then Peter's voice dropped cold. "I never promised you anything."
Angela froze.
He knew what he said. He knew it cut.
He added quickly, "I didn't mean it like that. I just—"
"You didn't promise?" Her voice rose now. "What about 'if you still feel this way in final year, we'll talk'? What about the stares? The touches? The texts? The dreams?"
"I didn't plan for Sandra to come back, Angela!"
"But you entertained her."
"She came to say hi!"
"She touched your chest."
"What?! So I'm not allowed to be touched now?"
Angela felt the tears coming. Not soft ones. Angry ones. The kind that sit in your throat.
"You know what?" she said, voice low. "You've always had a choice, Peter. Don't act like you're trapped between us. You're not. You just enjoy the attention."
He went quiet.
She hung up before he could speak.
---
That night, she didn't dream of him.
She didn't cry either.
She just laid there, phone on silent, staring at her ceiling like it had the answers.
And when Peter finally texted at 1:14am...
"I messed up. I shouldn't have said that. I saw you, Angela. I always see you."
She read it.
Then turned off her phone.
Because sometimes love doesn't need a kiss — it needs a wound.