After their brief chat about the celebrity, something shifted—just slightly—between Angel and Zhang.
They still weren't quite friendly. Not in the way people normally are. But there was something growing—tentative, like a fragile sprout breaking through hardened soil.
Zhang had started taking the medication she left by his bedside without the usual sighs and sarcastic remarks. That was something.
Today, Angel had spent the entire afternoon at school.
Of course, he knew. She'd already told him about her schedule. Nursing school wasn't child's play. And in between school and work—she also apprenticed at a local hair salon—her days were jammed full.
By the time she got home, it was past 7 p.m. The sky had already dipped into a cool indigo.
"I'm home," she announced, swinging the door open with tired shoulders.
"Did you have much work to do? You came back late," Zhang asked from the couch, his voice calmer than usual.
"Mmm, yeah. I had a lot to do," she replied, dropping her bag. "And that lady—my madam—she really gave me a tough time today."
He turned his head slightly, watching her. "Tough time?" he echoed, like he was tasting the phrase.
"Why?" she blinked, realizing she might've said too much. "Well… like they did in my secondary school days," she muttered quickly.
Regret immediately sparked in her chest. She hadn't meant to say that. Why had she said that?
But she brushed it off. It wasn't like he'd pick it apart. Not Zhang.
"I'm thinking of visiting my sister tomorrow," she said, trying to shift the subject. "If I have time. And maybe… I should look for a little something for you to do too. I mean—just so you can earn small money or—"
Her phone rang. Saved by the bell.
"Hello? Chioma! I'm good, you?" she chirped into the phone, walking away. "Really? Aww, too bad. I wish I could come… But have fun. Your kids? Let me see what I can do. I've been busy lately—no, seriously! You know the person I work for, right? Send me pictures, okay?"
She hung up, sighed, and flopped into the chair.
"Phew… that was close."
"You could've just gone," Zhang said suddenly.
She glanced at him. "To where? The party? Nah. I'll pass."
"Is it because of me?" he asked.
She waved her hand, dismissive. "Don't think too big. I mean, yeah, I used you as my excuse, but the truth is—I didn't want to go."
He raised a brow. "Why? I thought parties were fun."
Angel scoffed. "Sure. If you like drunk guys breathing over you and some idiots trying to grope you in the dark. I hate it. Always hated it."
Zhang seemed surprised. "But… it's enjoyable."
"It is—for some people. But it's always been a trap for me. I don't like how vulnerable it makes me feel." She paused, eyes serious now. "You've heard the stories, right? Girls disappearing. Ritual stuff. Yahoo boys everywhere. I'm not taking chances with my life. I like myself too much for that."
He nodded slightly. Her caution wasn't something he expected—but it intrigued him. Made him want to ask more.
He thought back to something she said earlier.
"What did you mean… just like in your secondary school?" he asked softly.
She froze.
Did she just hear that right?
"Huh?" she blinked. "Say what?"
"You said they treated you like in your secondary school days. What did that mean?"
Angel let out a nervous laugh, trying to shrug it off. But her fingers trembled slightly against the edge of the table.
That question.
That damned question.
The one she had spent years avoiding.
Because the truth behind it made her feel... small. Pathetic. Like a forgotten child in the back of a crowded room. It wasn't just painful. It was shameful.
It was the kind of truth that chipped at her confidence even now, years later.
And yet, here he was—waiting.