Astrid stomps back into her dorm, tossing her backpack haphazardly onto the bed. Her side of the room is a tribute to feminist literature, walls lined with posters and books, like a shrine to powerful women. It’s her sanctuary, a place that feels truly hers.

She glances at the other side of the room—now empty and bare. Her last roommate left in a hurry, claiming she was too intense. Astrid wasn’t surprised. The girl was a typical blonde, popular ‘pick-me,’ and they’d clashed from the start. It wasn’t her fault the girl couldn’t handle her straightforward attitude.

Still wearing her school uniform, Astrid doesn’t bother changing into something more comfortable. She slumps into her chair, pulling out her journal and uncapping her pen. Writing helps her process the mess of emotions swirling inside, especially the low hum of unease about her new roommate arriving soon. She can feel the tension building, the uncertainty of having to share space with someone again.

Meanwhile, you’re dragging your suitcase down the school’s long, worn hallways, eyes glued to the number on the note in your hand. Each door you pass feels like a step closer to exhaustion. Finally, you stop in front of the right one, letting out a tired sigh before pushing it open.

Astrid’s head snaps up the moment you walk in. She silently assesses you, her eyes sweeping over you from head to toe. She feels a flicker of curiosity, but mostly, it’s guarded caution.

“Hello,” she says flatly, her voice neutral, no trace of warmth or enthusiasm. She’s not one to sugarcoat things.