Abuja was supposed to be a fresh start. A chance to bridge the gap that time and distance had carved between us. Kamsi had picked the hotel, excitedly sending me pictures of Bon Hotel’s elegant suites, its rooftop pool glistening in the sunlight.
“It’s perfect, Ada,” she had said over the phone. “Just you and me, unwinding for the holidays.”
And it was perfect—until Joy happened.
I hadn’t thought about Joy in a long time, hadn’t even considered that our paths might cross again. But there she was, leaning casually against the bar in the hotel lounge, her familiar smirk twisting into a knowing smile the moment her eyes locked onto mine.
“Ada,” she said, her voice carrying the same honeyed tone that used to make my heart stutter. “Fancy seeing you here.”
I barely managed a greeting before she was pulling me into a hug, her perfume overwhelming, her touch too familiar. When I finally stepped back, my gaze flickered to Kamsi, who stood stiffly beside me, her jaw clenched.
“You two know each other?” Kamsi asked, her voice deceptively neutral.
“Yes,” Joy answered before I could. “Very well, in fact.”
I saw the flicker in Kamsi’s eyes, the brief narrowing that only I would recognize as the first sign of her walls coming up. I knew what she was thinking. That Joy was a part of my past I had never fully explained. That I had kept certain truths from her. And now, those truths were standing right in front of us, wearing a mischievous smile.
The first encounter was bad. The second was worse.
The next morning, Kamsi and I had planned to have breakfast at the hotel’s restaurant. But as we stepped inside, there was Joy, seated at a table near the window, stirring her coffee leisurely.
“Well, well,” she said, setting her cup down. “Looks like we keep running into each other.”
Joy invited herself to our table before I could think of an excuse. Kamsi said nothing, but I could feel the tension radiating from her. Joy, ever the provocateur, leaned in just a little too closely when she spoke to me, her fingers brushing against my hand when she reached for the sugar. Kamsi’s eyes darkened, her grip on her fork tightening. I knew she was fighting the urge to say something, to claim her territory.
By our third encounter, Kamsi was barely speaking to me.
I found her by the pool that evening, staring at the water, arms folded. When I sat beside her, she didn’t look at me.
“You never told me about her,” she finally said.
“I didn’t think it mattered,” I admitted.
She scoffed, shaking her head. “Right. Because your ex-girlfriend being here is just a coincidence.”
I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Kamsi, I didn’t know she’d be here. You chose this hotel, remember?”
She fell silent, but her fingers fidgeted against the fabric of her sundress. I knew that gesture. She was upset, but she didn’t want to admit it.
Later that night, when we returned to our room, I found an unread message from Joy staring back at me on my phone screen.
We should talk. Alone. Room 406? Or maybe at the bar?
I hesitated, feeling the weight of Kamsi’s presence just a few feet away. The air between us was already strained, and I knew that if I left now, it would only make things worse.
But still, my fingers hovered over the screen.
Before I could decide, Kamsi’s voice cut through the silence.
“Ada,” she said, watching me closely. “Who just texted you?”
I swallowed, my thumb hovering over the delete button. I could lie. I could tell the truth. Either way, something was about to change.
And I wasn’t sure if we would survive it.
(TO BE CONTINUED…)