Angela didn't like the way Peter smiled.
Not the smile itself — but the ease. The glow. Like something in him had woken up.
And the girl standing beside him?
She was different.
Golden, loud, and gloriously unbothered.
> "Ahh, you must be the famous Angela," Eva beamed, walking toward her, arms open. "Peter told me you were a prophet with cheekbones."
Angela blinked.
Did this girl just say prophet with cheekbones?
She accepted the hug stiffly.
> "Welcome. Hope the weather isn't too harsh?"
> "Oh no! Nigeria's heat is flirtatious. It follows me everywhere," Eva winked.
Peter chuckled.
Angela didn't.
---
Later that night, Angela sat with Malik in the hostel courtyard.
> "So that's her?" he asked, chewing chinchin. "The foreign flame?"
> "She's... something."
> "Jealous?"
Angela didn't answer.
Instead, she asked:
> "Is it possible to love someone... and still be drawn to someone else?"
Malik's chewing slowed.
> "Absolutely. That's why self-control is a fruit. Not a feeling."
Angela sighed.
> "I'm not saying Peter's falling. I just… I saw him light up. The way he used to... with me."