Hints of Attraction
They hiked for hours beneath the thick canopy, forging deeper into the forest's heart. Late afternoon found them near a cluster of large boulders by a trickling stream. The area provided decent shelter from night's looming threats, so they decided to make camp. Mike set up his tarp while Fanta searched for edible leaves or roots. She recognized a few safe plants—less palatable than her mother's cooking, but enough to bolster their meager rations.
Night crept in fast. The sky beyond the treetops turned purplish-blue. Mike and Fanta settled around a small campfire. She'd grown more at ease with him, her body no longer flinching at his presence. There was even a subtle electricity in the air, unspoken but unmistakable: the beginnings of romantic tension.
That evening, Mike told tales of the city from which he'd come. The flicker of flame caught the angles of his face, making his blue eyes sparkle with enthusiasm. "Back home… tall buildings… lights… all night," he said slowly, mixing the local dialect and English. "Cars… so many. People… always busy." He grinned self-consciously. "I sound like… old grandfather telling tales, yes?"
Fanta giggled softly, a bright, surprising sound. She instinctively covered her mouth, overly white teeth flashing. She'd learned early that her blinding smile could unnerve people, but Mike only looked enchanted. He joined in her laughter, which melted the night's tension into something warm and intimate.
When their mirth subsided, Fanta pictured the city lights he spoke of, forging a vivid mental image. Could I walk those streets without hateful stares? Could I stand among those people and be admired for the same features that doomed me in Ogamba? The notion swelled her heart with cautious excitement.
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Eventually, the night demanded sustenance. Their rations had dwindled, leaving them hungry. Mike tried setting a small snare for rabbits—ironically the same kind of trap that had ensnared Fanta earlier. She helped him place it near some droppings she recognized as belonging to small forest creatures. She teased in the local dialect, letting him interpret her laughter as mild encouragement for his plan.
To her surprise, the snare caught a rabbit before the night was old. She spied it trembling in the trap. While Mike approached carefully, she found herself stepping in, using quick reflexes. In a swift motion, she snatched the fleeing creature. Mike blinked in awe at the speed with which she darted, noticing that her ankle—seemingly injured—now displayed near-perfect agility. He frowned, brow furrowing. "Your leg… not hurt?" he asked, perplexed.
Fanta froze, cursing her slip. Her outcast condition allowed her to heal faster than normal. She recalled the countless times she'd hidden bruises from villagers, letting them assume it was demonic magic. "I… better," she mumbled, feigning innocence. Mike's eyes lingered on her unscratched form, baffled by how the day before she was limping. But he let it go, possibly chalking it up to good luck or strong will.
They dressed the rabbit carefully, Fanta showing surprising skill. She recalled how her mother had taught her basic survival tactics—Ogamba might be cruel, but it also thrived on practical knowledge. Mike marveled at her quick, efficient approach, from draining the blood to preparing the meat for a modest meal.
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While the rabbit sizzled over the fire, Fanta excused herself, pantomiming a washing motion. She needed to rid herself of grime—the day's sweat, plus lingering traces of mud from her earlier ordeal. Mike nodded, preoccupied with stoking the flames. She slipped away, following the stream's gentle gurgle until she found a secluded bend.
The moon hung overhead, silvering the water's surface. Fanta dipped her toes in, shivering at the chill. She tested the area for depth, then began removing her torn, dirty dress. Her movements were cautious, aware that someone—Mike—was not far away. But her urge to feel truly clean overcame her shyness. She slipped into the water, letting out a soft gasp at the cold embrace. The tension in her muscles eased as she submerged up to her shoulders.
Unknown to Fanta, Mike, curious about the rabbit's progress, decided to step away from the fire for a moment. He scanned the area for her silhouette, worried she might have ventured too far. Then he glimpsed the dim figure of her bathing in the water, purple hair trailing across her bare back, honeyed skin reflecting moonlight in an almost ethereal glow. He froze, heart hammering, realization striking: She's naked.
A surge of heat flushed his face. He backed away instantly, not wanting to intrude or be seen as a voyeur. Yet the fleeting image seared itself into his mind—a memory of her slender form half-illuminated by moonbeams, the water beading off her perfectly smooth skin. He swallowed hard, pulse racing, retreating to camp before she turned around. I can't unsee that, he thought, guilt and intrigue mingling. I mustn't…
Meanwhile, Fanta sensed a subtle rustle but found no one. She spun, arms covering her chest, scanning the shoreline. Nothing. Possibly her imagination or a small animal. She let out a shaky exhale, swiftly finishing her bath.
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When she returned, Mike pretended to be immersed in tending the rabbit and adjusting his camera's lens. He avoided her eyes, cheeks still warm from the unintentional glimpse. Fanta noticed his awkward stiffness but attributed it to typical foreign behavior. Or perhaps he was modest about seeing her so undone. She busied herself near the fire, wringing her damp hair, wearing her freshly rinsed dress.
A short while later, Mike decided it was his turn to bathe. He indicated the stream with gestures, giving her a shy nod as if to say Wait here. She nodded, hugging the blanket around her. Once he vanished among the trees, she spotted his camera perched on a rock.
A small grin tugged at her lips. So that's how he captures everything. She tiptoed over, curiosity aflame. She'd read about cameras, but never used one. He's so fascinated by me—I want to see how he'd look in a lens. She picked it up, fiddling with buttons until the screen flickered to life. Her heart pounded, recalling the lion photograph from his earlier demonstration.
She aimed the camera toward the stream's general direction, intending a playful experiment. Adjusting the lens like she'd seen him do, she pressed zoom. The silhouette of Mike appeared in the water, back turned. He was rinsing, the moonlight accentuating his muscular build. She gulped, startled by the intimate sight. She hadn't realized how toned and strong he was beneath those dusty clothes. A swirl of heat rushed to her cheeks.
What am I doing? She thought, heart racing. This was akin to peering at him in a way that might be disrespectful. She fumbled the camera, quickly lowering it. But the fleeting glimpse stuck—his broad shoulders, the water droplets sliding down. She'd never seen a man's form so clearly, especially one who evoked such gentle fascination in her. Anxiety warred with a flutter of attraction. She set the camera aside, scolding herself for the intrusion.