The ceiling above me was made of woven bamboo, and I could see tiny specks of sunlight peeking through the cracks. Which meant bugs could get in.
Bugs.
I shot upright immediately, shivering at the thought. “Nope. I am not sharing my room with insects.”
I grabbed my perfume from my bag and sprayed it in the air around me, as if that would keep them away.
For a moment, I just sat there, hugging my knees, staring at the floor.
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to scream.
Mostly, I wanted to go home.
But there was no phone. No signal. No driver waiting outside to pick me up.
I was stuck.
I could almost hear Dad’s voice in my head, telling me this was for my own good. That I needed to “reflect” or “find myself” or whatever nonsense he thought I needed.
“Thanks a lot, Dad,” I muttered bitterl
