EPISODE 3
1650 Words
After heading to my room, I began to worry of what may have happened to him , all of a sudden I could hear a faint voice ,that of a woman.
This is scary , it was coming from his room . I tried to sleep of but the sound still echoed in my head .
A woman’s voice. Soft, a little sad. It had come from Liam’s room or maybe from my imagination but either way, it refused to shut up in my brain.
I spent half the night replaying it like an annoying t****k sound.
Was it a video? A phone call? A ghost?
Please, God, not a ghost. I could barely handle living with a man, let alone a supernatural third party.
By the time morning came, I had slept a grand total of forty-seven minutes, I was dead beat. My hair looked like I’d fought a leaf blower and lost.
I stumbled into the kitchen to find Liam already there perfect posture, shirt crisp, mug in hand. His side of the counter gleamed; my side looked like a tornado audition.
All this perfectness for someone who look terrified last night. It's crazy how one switch up as if nothing has happened.
It wasn't my place to ask what happened or if he needed help , his aloofness means he wants to forget about it or doesn't want to talk about it .
'Which is fine' I thought to myself while staring at him.
“Morning,” he said, calm as ever. “You look… alive.”
“That’s debatable,” I grumbled, as I lazily walked towards the counter In search for my coffee.
“It’s in the second cabinet from the left. I reorganized them yesterday.”
I froze mid-reach. “You did what?”
“Reorganized,” he said simply. “There was no system.”
“There was my system.”
“You mean chaotic placement , you literally left the coffee on top of the microwave”
“I call it creative placement, and it was reachable and easy to access.”
He gave me that small, infuriating almost-smile. “Your creative placement involved cereal in the saucepan cupboard.”
“Okay, artist’s mistake.”
He took a sip of coffee. “Sure.”
I hated how good he looked at eight in the morning—, his hair slightly mussed, sleeves rolled up, that quiet energy of someone who had their entire life together. Meanwhile, I was holding a spoon like a dagger and blinking at the kettle like it owed me rent.
“Rough night?” he asked.
“Why?”
“You look like you fought something.”
“I did,” I muttered. “Sleep.”
He tilted his head. “You kept turning the lights on and off. Everything alright?”
I stared at him. “Did you hear… anything last night?”
“Like what?”
“Like… a voice.”
He blinked once. “A voice.”
“Yes. A woman’s voice. From your room.”
He frowned slightly. “I was asleep.”
“So you didn’t—?”
“No,” he said way too fast , tone unreadable. “Maybe it came from outside.”
Maybe. Or maybe he was lying. His calm was suspiciously professional, the kind of calm people use when hiding something behind a locked expression.
“Right. Outside,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Probably ghosts.”
He gave me a look. “You don’t actually believe in—”
“Shut up, Liam,” I said, grabbing my mug.
He smirked. “Touchy subject?”
“Only when my roommate might be haunted.”
“Haunted by what? Cleanliness?” he tossed the rag at me to clean the coffee mess I made when I grabbed my mug.
“Haunted by my patience disappearing.” I replied and tossed it back at him.
He chuckled quietly, and damn it, that sound was far too nice.
---
At mid break later that day, I slumped into our usual café booth between Sophie and Jade. Sophie was scrolling through her phone, nails neon pink, her attitude, lethal as always. Jade was already reading lecture notes like the responsible adult she pretended to be.
“You look like you haven’t slept in a decade,” Sophie said cheerfully.
“Thanks. I’m thriving,” I muttered, stirring my latte.
"How's work at your new job " Sophie said as she nudged me proudly with her shoulder.
I smiled in response "it's fine"
Jade looked up. “How’s the new flat?”
I dropped my head onto the table. “My roommate is a man.”
Both of them froze.
Sophie blinked. “Excuse me, what?”
“Long story. I didn't know I was going to be sharing a flat with a man, I was desperate for where my head could rest and now I share a kitchen with testosterone and a label maker.”
Sophie looked at me with a shocked expression "you could have stayed over at my place till you get a new place to stay"
"I know, but I didn't want to get in your way, especially since you need the space more than I do, you masters exams are coming up in a few months" I pat her back with a smile knowing I have someone who cares about me , she pouted a bit and gave me a reassuring smile that says 'everything is gonna be ok'.
Jade frowned. “Is he creepy?”
“No. He’s neat. And British. And polite. It’s terrifying.”
Sophie grinned. “So he’s hot.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I groaned. “He alphabetises mugs.”
“That’s foreplay for some people,” Sophie said.
“Stop.”
Jade smiled gently. “He sounds… stable. Maybe you could learn from each other.”
“I already learned something,” I said. “He’s allergic to glitter and sarcasm.”
Sophie leaned forward. “You like him.”
“I absolutely do not.”
She smirked. “You absolutely do.”
“I heard a woman’s voice from his room last night!” I blurted. “Does that sound like a man I’d like?”
They exchanged looks.
Jade: “Could be a recording.”
Sophie: “Could be his girlfriend.”
Me: “Could be the ghost of ex-girlfriends past.”
Sophie gasped dramatically. “Plot twist: you fall for a man haunted by his tragic past.”
“Stop writing w*****d stories in my life, Soph.”
Jade sighed. “Maybe just ask him.”
“Have you met me? I’d rather move out again.”
Sophie grinned. “Or stay and investigate. Ghost-hunting with benefits.”
I threw a sugar packet at her.
---
When I got home that evening, Liam was on the couch, typing on his laptop. The place smelled like coffee and order. My messy pile of shoes had somehow relocated to a neat line by the door.
“Did the shoe fairy visit?” I asked.
He didn’t look up. “No. I tripped over them this morning.”
“Oh.”
“I decided to reduce the risk of death.”
“How thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome.”
I dropped onto the opposite end of the couch. “So… long day?”
He glanced up, eyes tired but still that calm blue-grey. “You could say that.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly.”
I nodded. “Cool. I didn’t want to listen anyway.”
He smirked. “Good. Saves time.”
For a moment, we just sat there, silent except for the hum of the city outside.
Then I blurted, “Who’s the woman?” I couldn't hold it in any longer , my curiosity do get the best of me sometimes.
His fingers froze mid-type. “What?”
“The woman’s voice. Last night.”
He exhaled slowly, then closed the laptop. “You really don’t let things go, do you?”
“Not when they sounded like ghosts.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “It wasn’t a ghost.”
“Then what?”
“It was a recording,” he said finally. “Old voicemail.”
“Oh.”
“From my mum,” he added quietly.
Guilt punched me right in the stomach. “Oh.”
“She passed away two years ago.”
“Oh my god, Liam, I’m—”
“It’s fine,” he said, eyes fixed on the dark window. “Happens sometimes. The file plays when I back up my phone.”
Silence filled the space, awkward but softer somehow.
I wanted to say something comforting, but my mouth defaulted to sarcasm. “Well… she sounds lovely.”
He actually laughed, a low, real laugh that cracked the air open. “She was.”
It was the first time I’d seen his guard drop, even slightly. For a second, I saw the person underneath the precision the man who probably missed his mum every single day but refused to fall apart over it.
And that made something inside me twist.
“Sorry for the glitter,” I said quietly.
He smiled faintly. “Apology accepted.”
We sat there, two completely different disasters, and it didn’t feel so impossible.
---
Later that night, as I brushed my teeth, I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror and realised I was smiling. Great, I thought. I’m smiling about my neat freak roommate. I need therapy.
I turned off the light, headed to my room and froze.
From the hallway, faint through the closed door, came that same woman’s voice again.
Not from my phone.
From his room.
And this time, she was crying.
- Writer
