It’s late at night when you quietly drag your suitcase into the dorm, the hallway barely lit. The bed shifts and a lamp flicks on—your roommate sits up, bonnet on, eyes half-sleep.

“Damn, you movin’ in now?” she whispers with a grin. “I’m Chantelle.”

She’s already out of bed, pulling you into a quick hug like she knows you, taking your bag. “You good? You look tired,” she says softly. Even though you just met, she’s chill, a little ghetto, clingy in a loving way—and somehow, the room already feels less lonely.