[Emily’s POV]

Move-in day arrives with aggressive sunshine that feels like a personal attack.

I’m dragging my sad collection of belongings across campus, already regretting every life choice that led to this moment. The housing assignment clutched in my sweaty hand reads: Room 412, Bennett Hall. Roommate: 1.

Just a number. Not even a name.

Well, at least I’m not gonna be sharing a room with the entire team.

Bennett Hall is one of those ivy-covered brick situations that looks great in the brochures and feels like a Victorian prison in real life. Fourth floor, no elevator. Of course.

By the time I reach room 412, I’m sweating like I’ve run a marathon in hell. I unlock the door, bracing myself for the standard dorm horror show—mysterious stains, that specific smell of institutional despair, possibly a ghost or two.

Instead, I find… aesthetic?

One side of the room already looks like a lifestyle blogger’s wet dream.

A year’s worth of someone’s life, tasteful and curated—coordinated bedding, framed photos, a small succulent on the desk that somehow looks expensive.

The bare side waits for me like an afterthought.

I claim my territory and start unpacking. Clothes in the tiny closet. Toiletries on my shelf. The physical act of arranging possessions is meditative. This is my space now. I can make this work, whoever my roommate turns out to be.

Then I hear the door open behind me. I turn, and the universe reveals its punchline.

Maddie stands in the doorway, iced coffee in hand, frozen mid-step like someone hit pause on a video. Her expression cycles through recognition, disbelief, and something almost like fear before settling into careful blankness.

A long, horrible silence stretches between us.

We stare at each other. Time stops. Somewhere, God is laughing his ass off.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I say, because apparently my mouth has elected itself spokesperson for this disaster.

“This is my room.” Her voice could freeze hell. “I had a single last year. This is a mistake.”

“Well, unless I suddenly can’t read, this paper says 412.” I wave my housing assignment like a white flag that’s actually a declaration of war. “Surprise, roomie.”

She’s already pulling out her phone, fingers flying across the screen. “I’m calling housing. Right now. This is not happening.”

I watch her pace while she talks, using her phone voice—the one that sounds like she’s about to ask to speak to a manager. Watch her face go from determined to desperate to defeated as whoever’s on the other end delivers what is clearly not the news she wants to hear.

She hangs up and stands there for a moment, looking like someone just told her she has to live in a room with her worst enemy.

Which, I guess, is exactly what happened.

“Let me guess,” I say, going for casual and landing somewhere around bitter. “We’re stuck with each other?”

“Until spring semester. At the earliest.” Each word sounds like it’s being forcibly extracted from her soul. “They’re at capacity.”

Of course we are.

“So we’re stuck.” I state the obvious because someone has to.

“Apparently.” The word sounds like it costs her something to say. Like admitting defeat in a war she didn’t know she was fighting.

I try to be mature about it. Really.

I suggest boundaries, schedules, a DMZ down the middle of the room. Maddie responds in monosyllables, already constructing an invisible wall between us that might as well be made of concrete and spite.

But my eyes keep wandering to her side of the room.

A pink throw blanket draped over her chair. Motivational prints in rose gold frames. Then I notice a stuffed otter, perched on her perfect pink bedding like it owns the place.

A fucking stuffed otter.

“Since when do you like otters?” I hear myself say.

Maddie stiffens, her hand freezing mid-gesture. “What?”

The mask slips for just a second, and there’s my Madison—caught, exposed, real.

She remembers.

“Peaked?” I’m fully yelling now. “Sorry I didn’t realize the goal was to become completely fucking unrecognizable. Who are you trying to impress? Jenna? The other girls who talk behind your back the second you leave?”

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