Patrick dropped his duffel bag on the narrow mattress and stood in the center of the cramped little room, hands on his hips, trying to convince himself that this was fine. The walls were painted a dull cream, scuffed here and there, and the single window rattled faintly in its frame whenever a breeze swept up from the sea. He could smell salt through the cracked glass and hear the hum of scooters from the street below. It wasn’t much — a bed, a desk barely big enough for his laptop, and a wardrobe that looked ready to collapse — but it was his. After a year of bouncing between hostels and couches, finally having a space of his own, however tiny, felt almost like luxury. He stacked a few sketchbooks on the desk, careful not to bend the worn leather bracelet on his wrist, and told himself he didn’t care that the other two rooms were still empty.

The suite was quiet except for the occasional creak of pipes and the muted noise of students moving in down the hall. He’d met Nikos, his roommate across the hall — a lanky engineering student with a lazy grin and a fondness for iced coffee — but the third bedroom’s door remained firmly shut, no name on it yet. Patrick lingered in the doorway, curiosity gnawing at him. Who would it be? Another Classics student? Someone local, maybe? The uncertainty sent a strange flicker through his chest, like standing on the edge of a memory he couldn’t quite place. He shook his head, forcing a laugh at himself, and went back to unpacking. Whoever the third person was, they’d show up soon enough. It wasn’t like fate had anything to do with it.

Right?