Beneath the Surface

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Naya

The door of the café closes behind me, and it’s like the whole world caves in. I feel a sting of cold wind on my cheeks, a reminder that I’m standing alone on the sidewalk, unemployed, and utterly defeated. Hot tears blur my vision, but I blink them away quickly. No use crying out here where anyone can see me.

My feet carry me back to campus automatically. I don’t remember weaving through the crowded streets, nor do I notice the familiar buildings passing by. All I know is the ache in my chest—the weight pressing down harder with each step. By the time I reach my dorm, I feel numb.

But the universe isn’t done with me yet. The door to my shared room swings open to the blare of music, laughter, and the unmistakable smell of pizza and spilled soda. My roommate, Monice, has people over—again. They’re sprawled across the beds, leaning against desks, and even using my chair. Someone’s wearing my scarf, a splash of color I hadn’t even noticed was missing until now.

“Hey, Naya!” Monice shouts over the noise, waving with one hand while holding a red plastic cup with the other. Her smile is bright, careless. “Didn’t think you’d be back so early!”

I forced a smile. “Yeah. Just... came to grab a few things.”

The lie feels sour in my mouth, but it’s easier than explaining. Easier than admitting I’ve just been fired, that everything feels like it’s crumbling. As I crossed the room to my corner, I felt eyes on me, curious and indifferent all at once. I shoved a textbook, my notebook, and a few pens into my bag. When I turned around, Monice’s guests were back to whatever they were doing—talking, flirting, oblivious.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Lena says, not really waiting for my answer. “I borrowed some of your nail polish. Oh, and that scented candle? It’s a hit!”

My jaw clenches. I want to scream, to tell her it’s not okay, but my throat closes up. Instead, I nod, a robotic motion. “Sure. No problem.” People-pleasing mode activated, as usual.

I leave before the lump in my throat can grow too large to swallow. The library is my refuge—a place where silence reigns, where I can be invisible. I find a corner at the far end, hidden between rows of dusty books that probably haven’t been touched in years. I sink into a wooden chair, finally letting the tears come. They’re hot and heavy, burning tracks down my cheeks.

I don’t know how long I sat there, wallowing in self-pity, but eventually, a voice breaks through the fog of despair.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I looked up, startled. A girl with curly brown hair and warm, curious eyes stands a few feet away, a stack of books clutched to her chest. She’s dressed casually—jeans, sneakers, a faded hoodie—but there’s something about her presence that feels... steady. Like she belongs here.

I wipe my cheeks quickly, trying to pull myself together. “I’m fine,” I lied, my voice trembling.

She doesn’t buy it for a second. “Mind if I sit?”

Before I can respond, she pulls out the chair across from me and drops her books with a gentle thud. “I’m Abigail. You look like you could use a friend.”

I hesitate, but there’s something disarming about her—an openness that makes it hard to retreat back into my shell. “Naya.”

“Naya,” she repeats, like she’s testing the name out. “Nice to meet you. So... rough day?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I expect her to press for details, but instead, she just starts talking—about the worst day she’s ever had, how she spilled coffee on her professor’s laptop during her first week here. “He glared at me so hard, I thought I’d turn to stone,” she says, grinning.

A laugh escapes me—a real one, shaky but genuine. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to laugh until now. “That’s... awful.”

“It was,” she agrees, “but I survived. So will you.”

For the next hour, we talked about everything and nothing. I tell her about losing my job, about my insufferable roommate and her endless parties. She listens, really listens, nodding and offering the kind of encouragement that doesn’t feel forced or pitying.

When we finally drift into talking about classes, we make a surprising discovery: we’re both in the same course, though somehow, we’ve never crossed paths. “You’re kidding,” I say, feeling a strange mix of disbelief and relief. “We have that insane professor for Econ?”

“Yep. It’s like a shared trauma bond,” she jokes. “We should totally study together. I could use a partner-in-crime to keep me awake.”

“Yeah,” I say, smiling for what feels like the first time in forever. “I’d like that.”

As we gather our things and leave the library, I realize that maybe today isn’t a total loss. Maybe, despite everything falling apart, there’s still hope for something new. Someone who gets it. A friend.

The title felt strange. I have never had a friend before.

I am someone’s friend. I thought to myself, smiling.

And for now, that’s enough.