Oh god. My hands won't stop sweating. Backpack strap keeps slipping off. I've read the map four times and I'm still second-guessing every turn. I should've just asked someone. Too late now.
Building C. Hallway B. Room 3. Please be okay. Please don't look like the photos.
Nope. It's worse.
Peeling paint. Super welcoming. Did no one think students live here?
What if she's already here. What if she hates me on sight. What if she's not even a "she," what if I got assigned the wrong dorm, what if—
Okay. Deep breath. Key. Pocket. Not that one. Other side. Found it.
Please don't be locked. Please be empty. Please let me have a second to breathe before—
She's here.
She's tall. I can see the ponytail before anything else. She's already unpacking like this place was built for her.
Her shoes are lined up. Like, perfectly. Like they're posing.
Her desk lamp's on. The good kind.
I brought the clip-on one with the wobbly neck. Why did I think that would be fine?
She doesn't look up.
"Hey."
Her voice is low. Not unfriendly. Just… firm. Like it's a statement, not a greeting. Like I'm just part of the furniture she had to acknowledge.
"Hi. I'm Sophie."
God. My voice cracked halfway through. Cool first impression.
She glances over her shoulder. Nods once. Then goes back to folding her hoodie.
Top bunk's already taken. Of course. Her sheet's tucked like she ironed it on. Pillow right in the middle.
She moved in like she already owned the place. Like there was a plan. A system. And I'm just here to not mess it up.
There's a thin silver chain on her desk next to a phone charger. That's it.
Meanwhile I brought a stuffed jellyfish.
"You can take the bottom bunk, if that's cool."
Cool. Cool. Sure. Just crawl into the grave-tier slot like a worm. Totally fine. I'll just die quietly under you. No pressure.
"Yeah. Sure. That's fine."
Why did I say that so fast? That didn't even sound like me. That sounded like someone desperate to be liked by someone they don't even know.
I don't know anything about her. I don't even know her name. And now she's got my sleeping position locked for the rest of the semester.
Start unpacking. Just… do something.
Bag's stuck. Of course it snags. Perfect. Watch me look like an idiot on day one.
Why did I bring so many sweaters?
Everything just smells like my mom's dryer sheets. Too soft. Too obvious.
Her clothes are all just black, white, denim. Not a pastel in sight.
Not even a cat print. And I brought that pencil pouch with the paws. I should've left it at home.
She's folding clothes like she's done this every week since birth. Not even looking.
Just picks something up, folds, drops it in place. Her side looks sorted already.
I can't even get my socks untangled.
Should I ask her name? What if she already said it and I missed it?
God, maybe she thinks I'm ignoring her. Great. Messed up in under ten minutes.
"You're new here?"
Oh, she's talking to me. That's actually my cue. Say something normal.
"Yeah. Transfer. From Wellingford."
Why did I answer like that matters. Like Wellingford is impressive.
It's tiny. And honestly, gross. Mold everywhere.
"That's far."
"It was the only campus that didn't have mold in the showers."
Why did I just say that out loud. Mold, really? First impression is fungus girl.
She snorts, barely. Doesn't look at me. Just nudges her drawer closed with her knee.
"Sasha."
Her name. Sasha. Of course.
Simple. Neat. Not trying too hard.
I saw her name on the mailbox already. Reyes. All in caps, slanted sharp.
Mine's got a dumb little smiley at the end. Might as well announce "baby freshman here."
She's definitely taller than me, but it's not just that.
She stands like she actually wants to be seen. I'm just trying to make myself smaller.
She stretches for the top shelf. Her shirt lifts. Tan skin, not soft, actually toned.
I look away way too fast. That's subtle. Now I just look guilty.
Like I wasn't totally staring. Which, okay. Maybe a little.
No. Don't even let my brain go there.
Focus on something else. The carpet. Untie and retie my shoes. My wrist—great, scar's showing. Forgot the sleeve again. Of course.
"You good with top or bottom drawer?"
Wait, what? Oh—drawers.
"I—I'll take bottom. Less bending. Wait, no—more bending. I mean, it doesn't matter. Bottom's fine."
Flawless. Now she knows I can't do simple logic. Maybe she won't notice how red my face is.
Why did I say it like that? Should've just said I didn't care. Or asked what she wanted. Now I sound like I'm eighty.
She doesn't say anything. Just nods once. That necklace flashes in the light for half a second. Simple chain. Looks like she never takes it off. Probably has a reason. I'm not going to ask.
Unpacking slower now. I keep trying to make less noise but somehow the zipper sounds even worse.
Toothbrush hits the cup and it's like a gunshot.
Sweaters flop into the drawer. They look sad. Or I do. Soft, wrinkled, not even folded right. Classic.
Drawer's too full. Socks everywhere. That's not how you're supposed to do it. Should I try rolling them? I bet she does the rolling thing. Obviously.
She walks behind me to plug something in. I move out of the way way too fast.
Crash. Pencil cup everywhere.
Of course.
She doesn't even flinch.
"Sorry."
"It's okay."
Her voice is just… steady. Not annoyed. Not even a sigh.
I crouch down to pick up the pens. Knees crack. Great, now I'm officially a grandma.
One pen rolled under her bed. I'll get it later. Or maybe not. She'll find it and know it's mine.
"Um. Do you want me to be out of the room if you need space or anything?"
Why did I just say that. Why am I acting like a guest in my own room. What am I, the person who asks if you want the last piece of toast at a stranger's house?
She glances over at me. Just a second. Not a glare. Just… looking.
"No. It's your room too."
Then she turns back, ponytail swinging. That's it.
Right. Our room. Supposedly.
Feels like she's already got her half and I'm just here filling air.
I sit on my bed. The frame creaks. Hers didn't make a sound. Maybe mine's cursed. Or just cheap.
Lie back, stare up. All I see are the slats under her mattress. Lucky.
There's a sticker on one. Heart shape.
Did she put that there? Was it there before? Don't overthink.
She pulls her hoodie off and tosses it onto her chair. Doesn't even look. Lands perfect, of course.
Tank top underneath. Bare arms. Lean, not soft at all. She probably does sports. Bet she swims. That's a swimmer's arm.
Stop staring. Seriously, stop staring.
Close your eyes. Cats. Cookies. Something boring. Rain.
She yawns.
"You sleep early?"
"I try. If I don't overthink."
"Good luck with that."
That tone again. Like she could've kept talking. Like she changed her mind. She's reaching for her earbuds. That's my cue to shut up before I say something stupid.
I roll over and shove the pillow under my chin. It smells weird. Not like my sheets. Probably whatever the last girl used. I don't wanna think about that too hard.
She's not playing anything. Just scrolling. Tap, tap, swipe. It's weird how loud it feels in here when neither of us is talking. I can still feel her. Like she's stretched out across the whole room without moving. Like gravity, almost. She doesn't have to do anything. Just exist.
She probably thinks I'm weird. Or stuck-up. Or like I've never talked to another human being before. Great. Maybe she thinks I'm boring too. That'd be fair.
I could've said something better. Literally anything else. Maybe asked her major. Or if she's local. Or even just offered her the power slot. Anything except mold.
I'll try again tomorrow. Or later. Maybe we'll joke about something dumb. Maybe she'll smile and actually mean it. Not just that little snort thing.
I haven't seen her smile. Not properly. That sound earlier doesn't count. That was barely anything.
Does she snore? Is that a dumb thing to wonder? ...I kinda hope she does.
Her bed creaked just now. Tiny shift. She's right above me. I can hear the weight of her. If I reach up, I could probably touch where she's lying. Nope. That's crazy. I won't. I just keep thinking about it.
God. She's not even talking. Just lying there. And I can't stop imagining her voice. First night and I'm already cooked.