"Octavia."
I heard Amanda call my name, but I didn't look up. My vision was blurry anyway—tears had taken over long before my pride could stop them. My chest felt tight, like something heavy was sitting on it, refusing to let me breathe properly.
She hesitated for a moment, then quietly left the room.
When she returned, she wasn't alone.
Kemi walked in behind her and immediately pulled me into a hug. It wasn't awkward or hesitant. It was firm, grounding—the kind of hug you give someone when words won't do much good.
"It's fine," she said softly, rubbing my back. "You'll find someone else."
I nodded into her shoulder, even though that wasn't the problem.
Because the truth was—I wasn't crying because my heart was broken.
Far from it.
I wasn't in love with Kayla. I didn't even know Kayla. What hurt wasn't emotional attachment; it was disappointment. Hope. Anticipation that had built up too high and collapsed too fast.
I had been celibate for way too long.
Painfully long.
And for the first time in ages, I thought that drought was finally over. I thought I was finally about to have a good time—not with just anybody, but with a full-blown Instagram baddie. The kind of girl that makes you feel like life is finally cutting you some slack.
I had imagined everything.
The confidence boost.
The excitement.
The satisfaction of knowing I was no longer losing at life.
Instead, I got scammed.
Blocked.
Ignored.
Played.
My money gone. My ego bruised. My hope buried six feet under.
The worst part? Kayla probably wasn't even a girl. She was most likely some random man somewhere, laughing at how easily I sent that money. The thought alone made my stomach twist painfully.
At that point, it felt like karma had finally caught up with me and said, "Oh, you thought I forgot you?"
I sniffed loudly and wiped my face, annoyed at myself for crying over something so stupid. But emotions don't care about logic. They show up uninvited and make themselves comfortable.
I glanced toward Amanda and immediately looked away.
She wasn't laughing. She wasn't mocking me. But there was something about the way her lips curved—something dangerously close to satisfaction. Like the universe had avenged her without her lifting a finger.
And honestly?
I couldn't blame her.
I broke her heart first.
Even if she broke mine right back by dating Kemi—my former sneaky link.
Pain for pain. We were even.
Still, it hurt.
What hurt more was the silence of the house. My grandma was away, and without her presence, everything felt off-balance. Too quiet. Too empty. I missed her voice. Her questions. Her annoying check-ins.
I suddenly wanted this holiday to end.
I wanted school stress back. Uniform complaints. Early mornings. Anything but sitting with my thoughts and my embarrassment.
Later that afternoon, I remembered why I needed to leave the house in the first place.
The party.
Kemi had insisted on having an all-girls party at my place. Something "fun" to lighten the mood and distract everyone. She had ordered food, decorations, snacks—everything.
Everything except the booze.
Which was honestly criminal.
So guess who had to go out and get it?
Me.
The jobless, single Pringle.
I wasn't in the mood to dress up or look cute. I threw on a hoodie and sweatpants, something comfortable and forgettable. My hair was already in twists from the day before, freshly outlined, so I just packed it into a messy bun and slipped on my slippers.
I grabbed my phone, my wallet, and headed out.
As I stepped out through the gate, someone else was doing the exact same thing from the building beside ours.
We both paused.
She closed her gate and turned around.
And my brain… short-circuited.
She was breathtaking.
Not in an over-the-top way. Not in a trying-too-hard way. Just naturally, effortlessly beautiful. Her skin glowed under the afternoon sun, smooth and warm. Her face was soft but striking, with eyes that felt like they noticed things. Everything about her screamed calm confidence.
She looked up and caught me staring.
Instead of frowning or looking uncomfortable, she smiled.
A genuine smile.
"Hi there," she said.
I wanted to reply. I really did.
But my brain had logged out.
I raised my hand in a weak wave, hoping she wouldn't notice how suddenly incapable of speech I had become.
She walked toward me, unhurried, like she had nowhere else to be. When she stopped in front of me, there was barely a foot of space between us. Her perfume was light—clean, subtle, expensive-smelling.
"I'm Keisha," she said, extending her hand. "And you?"
My heart skipped.
My mouth opened.
My mind went completely blank.
I froze.
Shit.