Cairo sat cross-legged on the couch, her hands clutching a mug of tea that had long since gone cold. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks, her usual composure shattered. Her roommate sat beside her, quiet but attentive, the space between them small enough to feel their shared breath but large enough for Cairo to hold onto her pride.

“It’s just… Mr. Miller’s class is impossible,” Cairo said, her voice breaking as she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. “No matter how hard I try, he always finds something wrong. It’s like he’s out to get me.”

Her roommate frowned, leaning in slightly. “He’s not out to get you. He’s just… old and bitter. And blind to how hard you work.”

Cairo let out a shaky laugh, her tears mingling with a bitter smile. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just not good enough.”

“Don’t say that,” her roommate said softly, placing a hand on Cairo’s knee. The warmth of the touch grounded her, made the room feel less like it was spinning. “You’re brilliant, Cairo. Don’t let some washed-up professor make you doubt that.”

Cairo looked up, their eyes meeting. For a moment, the tears didn’t matter. “Thank you,” she whispered.