The Secret of Room C6

Chapter Two

Dragging my big, stubborn box across the uneven pavement felt like punishment. By the time I reached the doors of the hostel, sweat had already soaked the back of my T-shirt. Third floor, they had assigned me. No elevators. It was just a long stretch of stairs that looked like it was built to humble students.

I stopped halfway, breathing hard.

“You know what? I can not come and kill myself”, I muttered. University was already waiting to stress me out with lectures, assignments, and God-knows-what else. If there was a chance to avoid stress before it officially began, I was going to take it.

So, I did what any tired, slightly dramatic student would do. I paid one of the guys loitering around the hostel entrance to carry my luggage upstairs.

“Bros, abeg, help me carry this thing go third floor.”

Three thousand naira gone just like that, but honestly, it felt like money well spent. I watched him lift the box effortlessly, balancing it like it was empty.

The hostel security guard, a tall woman with a wide smile, looked at me and shook her head.

“Fine girl like you,” she said in that teasing, motherly tone. “Don’t stress yourself o. You’re too pretty to be dragging boxes.”

I laughed awkwardly, mumbling a thank you, though my ears felt warm. Compliments from people always caught me off guard. It had a way of making me feel exposed, like someone had put the spotlight on me without permission.

While the guy carried my luggage upstairs, I pulled out my phone. My brand-new S25 Ultra. Not because I had a message or call. I just wanted to check the time. Maybe it was nerves, maybe it was a habit. Maybe because part of me wanted to book mark this moment

The screen lit up. 1:43 p.m. Still early. Still plenty of time left for the universe to find a way to frustrate me. I slipped the phone back into my bag and followed slowly, trying not to think too much about how this place would soon become my new home.

By the time we got to the third floor, my legs were already complaining even though I wasn’t the one carrying anything heavy. The guy carrying my box stopped in front of a door.

”Oyinbo room number?” he asked, sweat shining on his forehead.

”C6”, I answered.

He nodded, set the luggage down with a thud, and stretched his hand slightly like he didn’t need to say more. I gave him 3 folded one thousand naira notes and muttered a thank you, and he left without ceremony.

For a moment, I froze, staring at the brown door. Behind it, I could hear faint laughter, high-pitched. Identical, like an echo of itself. My heart started racing. Anxiety. My oldest frenemy.

I closed my eyes, let out a quick prayer under my breath: Lord, please, let them like me. Let me not embarrass myself on the first day. With that small courage, I turned the handle and stepped inside.

The first thing I noticed was the brightness. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting sunlight pour in and bounce off two fair-skinned girls sitting on their beds. Twins. My new roommates.

The room itself was neat, simple, and well-arranged. Four beds lined the walls—two by the windows, two by the door. Each bed had a small bedside table, and a wardrobe stood tall for everyone, marked with faint numbers at the corners.

The twins had already claimed the window side, their wardrobes half-open, clothes neatly folded inside showing they had settled hours ago. Which left me with the beds near the door.

Without greeting anyone, I pulled my luggage closer, chose the one on the left, and sat down, pretending I was too busy adjusting my bags to notice their curious eyes.

I swept my little corner first. The broom bristles scratched against the tiled floor as I cleared out dust that had probably been there since the last occupant.

Then I spread my bed, straightened the sheets, fluffed the pillow a little too hard, and unpacked. Clothes found their way into my wardrobe, folded neatly at first, then dumped to be revisited when I’m less tired.

My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since morning. So, I left for Busa House—the one-stop spot for every kind of food on campus. It was a 15-minute walk from the hostel. The smell hit me before I even stepped in. Jollof rice, noodles, fries. Everything mixed together in the air.

I ordered a plate of jollof rice with 2 pieces of fried chicken, coleslaw on the side, and a chilled bottle of Coke. Nothing fancy, but it was hot, spicy, and exactly what I needed. I ate faster than I should have and trudged back to the room with a deep sense of satisfaction.

Back inside my room, I showered away the sweat of the day, changed into a baggy tee and shorts, and crawled onto my bed. I opened my phone, and before I knew it, I was watching a random episode of Run BTS.

This one had the boys playing a cooking challenge where they had to make different types of kimchi. It was fun as usual, chaos everywhere.

I found myself giggling out loud, the sound bouncing off the four plain walls of the room. BTS does that to you.

Slowly, my eyelids grew heavy until I drifted into sleep.

I didn’t sleep long. A loud voice jolted me awake. Someone had burst into the room, screaming like she owned the place.

”Mara! Clara!” she yelled, her voice carrying so much excitement it rattled through my sleepy head. My heart jumped, confusion spinning in my half-dreaming haze until my head and eyes cleared.

It was her. The girl who had shown me the way to the activity hall earlier. Only this time, she wasn’t just a stranger passing by. She was here in my room.