The Perfume Dilema

As night deepened, Fanta shifted closer to the fire to stay warm. She caught her own scent intensifying in the still air—berries and sweet fruit. Usually, her mother covered it with herbal perfumes, especially at night, terrified it might attract wild animals or snakes. She realized with a chill that, out here, the same concern remained: her aroma might lure predators.

She rummaged in the small pouch at her waist—barely anything she had left from Ogamba. She found a tiny cloth soaked in her mother's perfume. Squeezing it released a pungent herbal smell that intermingled with her natural fragrance, damping its sweetness. She dabbed it around her neck and shoulders, though not too heavily—fearful of scaring off Mike or making him suspicious.

Mike wrinkled his nose briefly, noticing the shift. He gave her a questioning look, perhaps wondering why she masked her natural smell with something so sharp and herbal. She only smiled weakly, glancing away. The truth was complicated: her mother had hammered the importance of perfume to conceal her aroma from beasts. She prayed it would suffice for tonight.

Their fire crackled steadily, casting dancing shadows on the surrounding trunks. The conversation fell into comfortable silence. Mike jotted notes in a small field journal, occasionally glancing at her as if to confirm she wasn't a dream. Every time their eyes met, a subtle warmth bloomed in Fanta's cheeks, an echoing flutter stirring in her chest.

Then came a subtle rustle beyond the firelight. At first, she thought it a breeze, but the hair on her nape prickled. She recognized the hush of a stalking presence. Her mind flashed to stories of leopards or hyenas creeping upon unguarded camps, especially if they smelled something enticing. Oh no, my scent…

She tensed, scanning the darkness. Mike picked up on her sudden alarm, gripping his small flashlight. The crackle of the fire no longer felt comforting—it felt like a beacon announcing their presence to the entire forest.

A pair of glinting eyes materialized at the edge of the firelight. Then a low growl rumbled, sending chills down Fanta's spine. A leopard—perhaps the same species or individual Mike had photographed earlier. Its muzzle wrinkled in caution or hunger, fixating on them with golden eyes that reflected the fire's glow.

Fanta's heartbeat soared. She realized the beast must have caught whiff of her berry fragrance—the very reason her mother insisted on masking it at night. She let out a shaky breath, cursing her misfortune. She glanced at Mike, whose jaw tightened. He reached for a large knife strapped to his belt, eyes darting from the leopard to Fanta.

For a moment, time froze. The leopard advanced a step, muscles coiled. Fanta swallowed terror, recalling how she'd encountered one in Okiya Forest not long ago, though it had left her alone. This one, however, sniffed the air with keen interest. Possibly the sweet smell lured it closer.

Mike set down his notebook and rose slowly, putting himself between Fanta and the cat. Fanta's heart fluttered at the protective gesture—a man risking himself for a girl he'd known only hours. The tension in the air was thick. She could sense the cat's caution, the primal hunger or curiosity that lurked behind those fierce eyes.

In near-silence, Mike stepped forward, raising a burning brand from the fire. The flames crackled, sending sparks into the night. The leopard hissed, flattening its ears. Mike brandished the brand, shouting something in his broken accent, half in English, half in the local dialect. Possibly an attempt to scare it off.

Fanta scrambled to her feet, ignoring the ankle's protest. She readied to run if the cat lunged, but also terrified of leaving Mike alone. She watched, breath caught. Each second dragged.

At last, the leopard let out a snarling cough, then backed away. With a final flick of its tail, it melted into the darkness, deciding these humans were not easy prey. Fanta almost collapsed from the wave of relief.

Mike stood there, exhaling hard, the flaming brand in hand. Sweat beaded his brow. Slowly, he turned to Fanta, offering a half-smile that spoke of adrenaline and triumph.

She gave a trembling nod. "Thank… you," she whispered, her voice quavering. She realized how he'd protected her from a real threat. Her distrust wavered—he truly had her safety at heart.

They extinguished the brand, returning to the fire's glow, though they kept it smaller, mindful that more predators might be drawn. Fanta sunk onto the mat, hugging her knees. Mike lowered himself beside her, a cautious inch of space between them. She sensed his entire body thrumming with leftover tension. She was no less shaken, but also felt a surprising warmth at his closeness.

He turned, gazing at her face in the dancing firelight. She realized her glow might be more apparent in the dimness. Her eyes shimmered with flecks of ruby, her hair trailing like a purple veil down her back. She expected him to look away in fear, but instead, his lips parted, awe etched into his features.

Fanta's pulse quickened. She recalled the brutality of men in her life—Okongo's coldness, the village's scorn. But this man was different, curious, protective. She found herself leaning closer, the tension between them thrumming with unspoken emotion. She was 18, never having known the gentleness of a man's gaze. Now, she felt it wrap around her like a soft cloak.

"Safe… now," Mike muttered, his accent thick. He tapped his chest, as if to say he'd watch over her. She nodded, swallowing back tears. In that moment, she realized how desperately she craved acceptance—or at least no condemnation—from someone. Her entire life, she'd been an outcast. Now, she was alone with a man who viewed her as something extraordinary.

They settled for the night, keeping the fire low. Fanta found that sleep remained elusive. Every time she closed her eyes, the day's events replayed: Handuza's laughter, the net, the leopard's glowing stare. Yet each time she startled awake, Mike was there, perched or half-dozing nearby, camera gear stowed but within reach, knife at his side. She noticed he'd frequently glance at her, as if verifying she was safe.

At one point, she murmured in her dialect, "Ogamba… no," which was all she could say to hint she couldn't go back. She wondered if he understood. He nodded solemnly, eyes reflecting firelight. Perhaps he grasped enough to know she had been driven out.

In the midnight hush, a subtle tension of romantic attraction hummed between them. Fanta was painfully aware of his presence—a man so unlike any she'd known. Her heart fluttered with a mix of innocence and curiosity. He's enthralled by me. Am I… enthralled by him? She recalled lines from romances in her old books: stolen glances, the spark of first affection. She'd never expected to taste that in a forest after a day of torment.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed them both. They drifted off to the lullaby of crickets, side by side yet not touching, separated by a fragile boundary of caution and unspoken longing.