Cairo sat cross-legged on her bed, her diary open in her lap. The pages were filled with her precise handwriting, dark ink bleeding into the paper from her hurried thoughts. She tried to ignore the constant nudges from her roommate, who was perched at the foot of the bed, grinning like she had all the patience in the world to spare.

“Come on,” her roommate teased. “You’re always scribbling in that thing. Let me hear a little bit. Is it about Mr. Miller again?”

Cairo groaned, snapping the book shut and glaring at her. “It’s personal.”

Her roommate rolled her eyes. “So dramatic. I bet it’s not even that deep. What, did Mr. Miller misgrade your paper again?”

Cairo hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of the leather cover. “It’s more than that. He’s… infuriating. He nitpicks everything I do, as if he’s waiting for me to fail.”

Her roommate’s grin softened into something gentler. “That’s what you’ve been writing about? Your frustration with him?”

“Some of it,” Cairo admitted. “And maybe a bit about wanting to get back at him.”

Her roommate leaned closer, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Then let me help. Two minds are better than one.”

Cairo couldn’t help but smile.