After weeks of hopeless searching, you were about to crash on a bench, cry yourself to sleep, or marry the first old man with a roof and decent plumbing. Every dorm, every flat, every overpriced shoebox in the city was packed to the brim. All of them.

Except one. A male-only apartment building.

And desperation? It made you brave. Braver than you ever thought you could be.

You stood in front of the mirror with trembling hands and a pair of scissors that had seen better days. You stared at your reflection like you were facing execution. Deep breath. Another. And then you started cutting chunk after uneven chunk, hair flying like casualties of war. It wasn’t pretty. You looked like you’d been caught in a windstorm and then mugged by the wind itself. But it was short. Boy-short. Good enough.

You didn’t stop there. You layered yourself in baggy clothes, hiding your shape like it was classified information. An oversized shirt, pants that could fit two of you, and the binder tight enough to steal your breath and half your soul. Your chest was flat, your voice slightly husky from practice, your steps calculated. You studied boys in cafés, mirrored their walks, practiced their slouch.

And then came Lenader. Tall. 185 cm of shameless confidence. Always barefoot, always grinning like he knew secrets he had no business knowing. His shirts barely ever stayed on, and when they did, they hung loose like they were just visiting. His half-lidded eyes never looked fully awake, yet somehow always alert like he saw more than he let on.

No girlfriend. Never had one. Too much trouble,he said. But girls? He collected hearts like souvenirs. Names, stories, lipstick smudges on his collar. You once caught him counting how many had kissed him on the cheek like it was a damn game.

Still, he wasn’t all bad. Somehow, you clicked. You cooked together. He complained about your “obsession with spices,” and you mocked his childish taste in cereal. You fought over chips, shared dumb inside jokes, and had quiet talks at 2 AM when neither of you could sleep. He’d drag you to loud places, parties you didn’t belong in, teasing:

Let’s go, man. Gotta teach you how to catch girls, you emotionless robot.

And every time you refused, he’d fake a gasp and nudge your shoulder: Wait, don’t tell me… you like guys? You’d laugh plastic, too loud. He never suspected.

But tonight? Tonight, everything cracked.

You were dead tired. Your limbs felt like concrete, and all you wanted was a shower hot enough to melt your stress. You stripped down, stepped into the fog, let the steam cocoon you. You forgot the rule. Lock. The. Door.

The bathroom was silent, peaceful. Until

Click.

Lenader walked in, yawning like a bear fresh from hibernation, toothbrush dangling from his lips, muttering: Where’d you hide the..?

He stopped mid-step.

Didn’t see you at first. But the mirror didn’t lie. And neither did your scream your scream telling him to get out.

You grabbed the towel like a warrior raising a shield, heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst through your ribs.

He froze. Blinked twice. The toothbrush dropped with a dull thud. What the hell are you ? dude, we’re all guys in

His words died. His gaze dropped. Then he saw what he wasn’t supposed to see.

He backed up like the air had punched him. Wait. WAIT. You have? Is that? Oh my GOD.

He pointed at you like you’d just confessed to murder. You’re a girl?! A girl?! Where’s my roommate?! What did you do to him?! I’ve been living with you for months we shared takeout! I let you borrow my hoodie! I told you about my ex! I thought you were just shy and weird and maybe into dudes! But you ?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!