Angela sat in front of the mirror brushing her hair.
No tears.
No sad music.
No handwritten letters.
Just her.
Silence.
And that ache that comes from letting go of someone who didn't wrong you — but still couldn't stay.
---
Peter had left the country two days ago.
He sent her a message at the airport:
>>> "This isn't goodbye.
But it's me choosing growth — for both of us."
She didn't reply.
Not because she was angry.
But because sometimes silence is more sacred than words.
---
The first few days without him were… strangely peaceful.
No butterflies.
No overthinking text replies.
No temptation.
No guilt.
But also…
No shared laughter.
No unexpected walks.
No deep conversations at midnight that made her feel seen.
Grief wasn't a river.
It was a room.
And she was stuck inside it.
---
Tamara noticed the difference.
"You're too quiet."
Angela shrugged. "Quiet isn't always bad."
Tamara sat beside her. "Have you cried?"
Angela blinked. "I don't think I know how to cry for someone still alive."
Tamara held her. "Then grieve him. Properly. Before the ghost of what you wanted starts haunting the future you're building."
Angela exhaled deeply.
And for the first time in weeks?
She let herself feel everything.
The guilt.
The kisses.
The prayers.
The hope.
The tension.
The laughter.
The passion.
The pauses.
And the goodbye.
---
Meanwhile in the UK, Peter sat by a frosted window, staring at the sky like it would write her name across the clouds.
He missed her.
But he was changing.
He joined a Bible study group.
Started journaling.
Stopped looking for her in other girls' faces.
And instead, started looking for himself in God's mirror.
---
Then one night, Angela was walking back from a late-night Bible study group when her phone buzzed.
Tamara.
"Go to Twitter. Peter is trending."
Angela's heart jumped.
She opened the app.
There it was:
#UnibenLoverBoy
#PeterThePastor
#FromPlayerToPreacher
Someone had posted a clip from his UK Bible study group — Peter was preaching, full fire, full focus, no filter.
>>> "You can love someone and still have to let them go.
Because obedience sometimes feels like heartbreak.
But obedience is still love — love for God, love for purpose, love for peace."
Angela dropped the phone.
Smiled.
He had changed.
And she was proud.
But a quiet thought crept in.
>>What if this version of Peter…
is now meant for someone else?