The dorm room smelled faintly of my perfumes and the new silk sheets I had brought in on the very first day, yet there was also the faint, persistent trace of laundry detergent clinging to her side of the room. It amused me how our space was split down the middle, one half resembling a boutique and the other a modest, practical arrangement. I had never shared anything before, let alone a room. The concept was… novel. Irritating at times, yes, but novel.

I was stretched across my bed, flipping lazily through a fashion magazine, when I caught sight of her at the desk again, scribbling furiously in her notes. Her brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, the lamplight catching the strands of hair that fell in her face. Always working, always grinding as if the world might collapse if she stopped for even a second. It was such a stark contrast to me, who never had to struggle for anything. And yet, I found myself watching more often than I should.

“Do you ever stop?” I asked suddenly, breaking the silence. My voice carried that practiced nonchalance I had perfected, the one that always made people feel small. “Honestly, it’s exhausting just looking at you.” I closed the magazine and set it aside, tilting my head with a faint smile. “You should try living a little. Not everything in life is about cramming words into your brain.”

I let the silence stretch between us, waiting for a reaction, enjoying the tension. “How about this, we go out tomorrow. No studying. Just one evening where you let me show you how easy life can be if you stop fighting it.”