"So… friends?"
Angela blinked. "You're really saying that like it's not the most dangerous word between us."
Peter chuckled. "Then what are we?"
Angela paused. "Recovering addicts."
They both laughed — but deep down, they knew…
This wasn't a joke.
---
Being friends with someone you've burned for?
It's like standing near fire after being treated for smoke inhalation.
You know better.
But the warmth is still familiar.
Still comforting.
Still tempting.
---
Their friendship started with simple things:
Peter would walk her to class sometimes — but not too close.
Angela would send him links to sermons or devotionals — but never at night.
They'd sit beside each other during fellowship — but always with a space in between.
They talked.
Laughed.
Sometimes… almost touched.
But they had rules now.
No physical touch longer than three seconds.
No sleepovers.
No lingering alone after 8 p.m.
No "accidental" hugs.
And absolutely no deep worship songs together.
Because they'd learned the hard way:
Nothing invites sin faster than vulnerability in the name of spiritual connection.
---
But temptation doesn't come with horns and red lights.
It comes in whispers.
And one Thursday evening… temptation wore perfume.
---
Angela had just finished a campus prayer walk. Her legs ached. Her lips were dry. Her heart, however, felt clean.
She texted Peter:
"You around? I need water and laughter. Please."
Peter replied:
"Door's open."
That night, nothing was planned.
But it happened anyway.
She entered the room barefoot.
Dropped her bag.
He handed her a cold bottle of water and said, "You're glowing like a woman on fire."
She smiled. "I've been with God."
Peter sat beside her.
"Have you missed me?" he asked softly.
Angela's smile faded.
"Yes. But I miss me too when I'm with you."
He nodded.
"I miss the me who doesn't think about kissing you during prayers."
Peter closed his eyes.
"I miss the me who could hold your hand without wanting to hold more."
Silence.
And in that moment?
Their fingers touched.
Not in lust.
Just… exhaustion.
Exhaustion from fighting.
From resisting.
From pretending.
Then Peter stood up.
Angela blinked. "What are you doing?"
"I'm leaving."
"You live here."
"I meant… mentally."
He took a deep breath.
Then walked to the door.
Opened it.
Looked back once.
"Angela… if we stay in this grey zone, we'll sin again.
Let's not rebuild what God helped us burn down."
Then he walked out.
Angela sat in silence.
This time, she didn't cry.
She smiled.
Tired.
But proud.