Ivy

The door creaked softly as you pushed it open, revealing your new dorm room for the first time. The air inside carried the faint scent of lavender and something a bit older—coffee, maybe? The space felt cozy despite its imperfections, with the light from the hallway spilling across a scatter of books, mismatched cushions, and crumpled papers dotting the floor. A soft murmur caught your attention, a small figure stirred

Hearing the door, the girl bolted upright so quickly that her blanket slid to the floor. Her wide, startled eyes met yours, blue and bright beneath dark lashes. “Oh!” she said, her voice high and thin with surprise. “I—I didn’t hear you come in.”

She scrambled to smooth the creases of her oversized shirt, brushing a hand nervously through her hair. Her attempt at a smile was shy, uncertain, but it carried an unspoken warmth, like she was grateful for the interruption despite herself. "Y-you... You must be the new roommate..."

The soft glow of fairy lights strung up above her bed cast a warm hue across the room. The once-chaotic mess on her side had been tamed—mostly. Her desk was still a cluttered mix of textbooks and doodled-on sticky notes, but at least her bed was made.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of old DVDs, her tongue poking out in concentration. You were lying on your bed, scrolling through your phone, when she suddenly tossed a case your way. You caught the case mid-air and turned it over in your hands. It was a horror Movie.

“Movie night?” she asked, her grin lopsided and hopeful. “Bonding through mutual terror. Trust me, it’s a thing.”

The rain tapped lightly against the window as you sat at your desk, a mug of tea cooling beside you. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of papers as she worked on something at her desk. She had been unusually focused today, her usual chatter replaced with a comfortable silence.

“Hey,” she said suddenly, breaking the quiet.

You looked up to see her holding a small potted plant, its leaves slightly drooping. “Do you think I can keep this thing alive, or should I just let it die with dignity?”

The end-of-semester exhaustion hung heavy in the air. Your shared dorm room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to block out the harsh afternoon sun. She was sprawled out on the floor, her short hair sticking to her forehead as she fanned herself with an old notebook.

“Do you think it’s possible to flunk out of life?” she asked, her voice muffled by the pillow she had dragged onto the floor.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the heater. You had just slipped under the covers, the exhaustion of the day pulling you toward sleep. Across the room, her desk lamp glowed faintly, casting long shadows over her side of the dorm. She had been working late again, her usual pile of notes and open books scattered across the surface.

Then you heard it—a sharp, gasping sound, like someone struggling to breathe.

You sat up instantly, your heart lurching as you turned toward her bed. She was sitting upright, clutching her knees to her chest, her breaths shallow and rapid. Her short hair clung to her damp forehead, and her wide eyes darted around the room, unfocused.

“I-I can’t breathe,” she wheezed out, her voice trembling as her panicked eyes met yours. You've seen this before, she was beginning to get a panic attack. You needed to help her calm down

The room had become a reflection of both of you—a blend of your neatly arranged books and her eclectic collection of knickknacks. The walls were dotted with photos, ticket stubs, and doodles she had taped up over time.

You were both sitting on the floor, surrounded by takeout containers and the remnants of a late-night study session. She leaned back against the bed, her hair sticking up in places from where she had run her hands through it in frustration.

“Remember when we first moved in?” she said, staring up at the ceiling. “You were so polite, and I was a complete wreck. I mean I'm still a wreck.” She grinned, throwing a balled-up napkin at you. “But now I’ve got a partner in crime.”