Zhang hadn't quite figured out what to make of Angel's friendship. She talked more than he liked, more than the quiet girl he thought he knew.
But that evening changed something.
His stomach ache flared again—sharp, twisting pain. The first time since he'd possessed the body. And the first time Angel had to face this side of him.
The hospital was far—over four hours away from her lodge. All they had was the nearby pharmacy, a temporary solution. The medicine would ease the pain, just enough to get him through the trip.
Of course, nothing came easy. The usual Nigerian wahala met them at the clinic. Long queues, impatient nurses, and a waiting room that smelled of antiseptic and old complaints. Still, they eventually got through to a doctor who actually knew what he was doing.
"We'll need to register him for proper checkups," the doctor said, after administering treatment. "That way, if the pain returns, we can manage it early. As you know… he's in the final stage. There's not much more we can do than ease the pain."
"I'd like to talk to my brother, please," Angel requested politely.
Once they were alone, Zhang didn't wait.
"I don't want to be admitted. And I don't want to come here again," he said flatly.
"Sgh! You won't even listen if I try to convince you?" Angel asked.
Zhang shook his head.
"So much for an eighteen-year-old kid." She let out a breath. "Let me think about that, okay?"
"I'm not a kid," he snapped. "I'm way older than you. And I still don't want to stay here."
She blinked. Of course, he was in the body of a teenager, but his words held weight. Truth be told, he would be twenty-seven by the end of the third month.
"Alright," Angel relented. "Why, though? Why don't you want to stay?"
"I hate the smell. And I'm not spending my remaining months lying in a hospital bed, inhaling medicine and misery."
That struck her—but she knew better than to pity him. He hated pity. Almost more than the illness itself.
"Okay… how about this? You don't stay here. But every third week of the month, you and I come back for a check-up. No overnight stays. Just a few hours with the smell of medicine. Can you live with that?"
Zhang nodded. "Fair enough."
They told the doctor. He wasn't thrilled, but he agreed. At least the boy was taking his life seriously—enough.
Outside the hospital, Angel finally exhaled. "I hate the smell, too. Hospitals. I've never brought anyone here before. Not even myself."
"Why?" Zhang asked.
"I've never been that sick. Nothing serious enough for a hospital trip. The pharmacy's always been enough. Or a nurse's shop."
She didn't elaborate, and Zhang didn't push. But his thoughts wandered. He remembered the story she'd told him—the teacher's abuse, the indifference of her guardians. Could that be why she avoided hospitals?
In his past life, even a cough would warrant a hospital visit. His parents never listened to "I'm fine" or "Don't worry." They'd rush him in anyway.
But this girl… she hadn't even seen a hospital for headaches.
He also remembered her saying her parents only found out about the abuse months before graduation. The teacher must've loosened her grip for the sake of exams. Angel had told her parents after everything was over.
So that's who she was—someone who only speaks up when the worst is already behind her. Someone who waits until the wound is a scar before she shows it.
Could there be even more she never told?
Then she spoke again, as if making an announcement. "We need to work. No money left for transport."
Zhang frowned. "My so-called relatives paid you. Use that."
"I did. On your medicine. My own money covered the transport."
"Stop lying. I don't believe you."
Angel sighed, deep and tired. "Trust me, or don't. I'm too exhausted to argue." She raised her hand and flagged down a Keke.
Zhang watched her, silent. The girl who always made sure he had his pills. The girl who let him be angry and didn't force him to smile.
He didn't say it out loud, but something inside him shifted.
He was starting to respect her.
Just like the way she respected them both—him, and the body he now lived in.