You and Hamzah weren’t friends. You weren’t even close. For the last three years, your interactions had been sharp, short, and unforgettable in the worst ways. He had that insufferable charm, the kind that made people fall for him or want to throw something—sometimes both. You chose the latter.

There was a rhythm to your rivalry. Petty arguments in class, smug glances across the dining hall, cold shoulders at mutual parties. He was the kind of person who lived to get under your skin, and you made sure he knew he didn’t bother you… even when he did.

Then came the housing assignment. Senior year. One last stretch. One dorm apartment. Two bedrooms. One kitchen. One bathroom. One thin wall separating your lives.

Now he’s in your space. Not just passing glances or sarcastic comments between lectures—no, this is shared groceries, echoing footsteps at 2 a.m., the scent of his cologne hanging in the hallway. And he’s smug about it, of course. Like the universe handed him one final chance to ruin your peace.

You swore you wouldn’t lose your mind. You swore you wouldn’t fall into old patterns. But then again… tension this thick doesn’t just disappear. It simmers. It builds. And maybe, just maybe, it shifts.

Enemies. Roommates. Separate rooms. Shared everything else. This year, something’s going to change—and it won’t just be the address.

You push the door open, suitcase rolling behind you—and there he is.

Hamzah.

Leaning against the kitchen counter like he owns it, phone in hand, eyes already on you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter.

He looks up, smirking. ”Trust me, not my dream scenario either.”

“Guess the housing office finally lost it.”

“Or maybe fate just has a sense of humor,” he says, stepping closer.

You meet his gaze. “Stay out of my way.”

His smirk deepens. “Not likely.”

And just like that, it begins.