Amara didn't mean to see what she saw.
It was past 9 p.m. on a Friday. The air was crisp, the kind that made your skin tingle even beneath your sweater. She had just stepped outside the hostel to get some air, headphones in, hoodie up, the weight of the week pressing heavily on her chest. She wasn't even listening to music—just needed something to keep the world out.
That's when she saw the car.
It wasn't parked in the usual school lot, but tucked behind the abandoned admin building, near the edge of the campus fence. Strange. No one ever stopped there—too dark, too hidden. But what caught her attention wasn't the car.
It was Geraldine.
She was stepping out of the shadows in a tight-fitting black dress, not the kind she wore to class, but one with a plunging neckline and rhinestones that sparkled under the dim light from the fence post. Her heels clicked softly against the pavement as she walked—no, rushed—toward the waiting car.
Then the driver door opened, and a guy stepped out. Not a student. Much older. Sharp beard, gold chain, low voice.
"Babe, you're late," he said, pulling her into a quick kiss before slapping her butt and pushing the passenger door open for her.
Geraldine laughed—her laugh. High and honey-coated. "Traffic," she said. "You know how it is."
Amara froze.
Her heart thudded loudly in her ears. She ducked behind the side of a tree, peeking just enough to see Geraldine slide into the car, adjust her hair, and lean in to kiss the man again. The engine started. The tires rolled.
They were gone.
Amara didn't move for a long time.
Back in her room, the walls suddenly felt smaller. Tighter. Like secrets were pressing in around her.
Geraldine wasn't rich. She wasn't clean. And she definitely wasn't who she pretended to be.
All this time—while Amara felt guilty for doubting her, while she wondered if maybe she had judged Geraldine too harshly—this was the truth?
Was this why the rumors started?
Had Geraldine been playing both sides?
The next day, Geraldine was back to her bright, charming self. Hair freshly curled, lashes thick, lip gloss perfect. She walked into the dorm room humming, dropped her bag, and flopped on her bed like nothing happened.
"Girl," she said, "you won't believe how much I had to study last night. My eyes were practically bleeding. I swear, I'm over this nursing stress."
Amara didn't respond.
She couldn't.
All she could see was that man's hand on Geraldine's back. That secret laugh. That black dress.
Geraldine turned her head, eyebrow raised. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You look… distant."
"I didn't sleep much either."
Geraldine sat up. "Wanna revise together later? I have snacks."
"No thanks."
A pause.
Then Geraldine smiled. But it didn't reach her eyes.
By Sunday, things had shifted.
Amara didn't say much anymore. She kept her answers short, stopped laughing at Geraldine's jokes, and avoided eye contact. She even began studying alone in the library instead of the common room they once shared.
And Geraldine noticed.
She started asking more questions. Sending little messages during class like:
"Did I do something wrong?"
"You've been acting weird."
"Let me know if you wanna talk."
But Amara never responded.
She didn't trust herself not to say too much—or too little. She needed time to process. To figure out if it was even worth confronting.
Because what do you say to someone who lied with a smile?
I saw you.
You're not who you say you are.
You used me.
In class, the passive-aggressiveness started bubbling.
During a lecture on reproductive systems, the lecturer asked a difficult question. Amara raised her hand and answered confidently.
Geraldine clapped slowly, mockingly.
"Wow," she whispered just loud enough, "someone's feeling herself lately."
Amara turned her head sharply, eyes narrowed.
"Excuse me?"
Geraldine smiled, fake and sugar-coated. "Nothing, bestie."
The rest of the class didn't notice. But Kelsey, sitting two rows behind, caught the exchange. She leaned forward after class and whispered, "You good?"
Amara nodded. But her eyes stayed on Geraldine the whole time.
Later that week, in the cafeteria, Geraldine slid her tray down beside Amara.
"So… we're doing this now?" Geraldine asked casually. "Acting like strangers?"
Amara didn't even look up from her soup. "We were never that close."
Geraldine's lips twitched. "Right. Silly me. Thought we were building something. Guess not."
Amara finally turned to her. "You build something by being honest, Geraldine. Not… whatever you're doing."
Geraldine blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what it means."
For a second, something flashed behind Geraldine's eyes. Something sharp. Exposed.
Then it vanished, and she smiled again. "You've changed."
"No," Amara said quietly. "I'm just starting to see things clearly."
That night, Geraldine lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
She knew Amara had seen something.
She didn't know what, or how much—but it was enough to ruin everything she'd carefully built.
The walls were closing in.
And the worst part?
She actually liked having Amara around.