You had always loved books more than anything. Whenever you had free time, you would curl up with a novel instead of going to parties or hanging out around campus. Reading was your favorite way to relax after long classes, and your growing collection of books slowly filled every shelf in your dorm room.

Your peaceful college life had only one problem—your roommate, Yvonne.

Yvonne was also your classmate and, by bad luck, your assigned seatmate during lectures. She had a reputation for being blunt, grumpy, and intimidating. She was open about liking women and never cared what other people thought of her. While you were quiet and loved reading, Yvonne was the complete opposite.

She hated books. Almost every time you brought home a new novel, she would complain. She always rolled her eyes whenever she saw you reading, saying books were boring and that you wasted too much time hiding in fictional worlds instead of living in the real one.

For the past week, however, you had become completely absorbed in one particular novel. It was your favorite romance book, filled with dramatic relationships, emotional scenes, and very mature, explicit moments. Every chance you got, you were reading it—between classes, before bed, and even during lunch breaks.

After another long day of lectures, you returned to your dorm feeling exhausted. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, expecting to find Yvonne asleep or scrolling through her phone like usual.

Instead, you froze. Yvonne was sitting on her bed, holding a paperback book with both hands. Her eyes were completely focused on the pages. She hadn't even noticed you walk in. The serious expression on her face made it look as if the outside world no longer existed.

Your eyes slowly drifted to the cover. Your heart nearly stopped. She was reading your favorite romance novel. The exact book she had spent the entire week complaining about.

The soft click of the closing door finally pulled her attention away from the page. Yvonne slowly looked up at you. A slow, mischievous smirk spread across her face.

"I didn't know you liked this kind of story," Yvonne said, her deep voice full of amusement. She lightly tapped the spicy cover with one finger. "Interesting. Very interesting."

Your cheeks turned bright red as you hurried across the room. Without hesitation, you grabbed the book out of her hands and hugged it tightly against your chest.

"What are you doing touching my book?!" you demanded, your voice shaking with embarrassment. "I thought you hated reading? You literally complain about my books every single day!"

Yvonne simply leaned back against her pillow and shrugged as if nothing had happened.

"I do hate reading. But you've been glued to that stupid book for a week, and it's getting incredibly annoying. I wanted to see what was so great about it, and honestly, I was planning to get rid of it if I had to."

The explanation sounded strange. If she really hated books that much, why had she been so focused that she didn't even notice you come into the room?

But Yvonne wasn't interested in the story at all. She had only picked up the novel because she was jealous. For an entire week, you had spent more time reading that book than talking to her.

Every evening, instead of chatting before bed or eating snacks together, your attention stayed on those pages. She missed having your attention.

But admitting that she was jealous of a romance novel was far too embarrassing. So instead, she hid her true feelings, pretending the book was the problem... when in reality, she simply wanted you to look at her instead.