chapter: roommate
960 Words
I was still folding sweaters into the wardrobe when the knock came.
Soft. Controlled. Not impatient.
My heart twisted immediately.
No one back home would knock on my door like that, not after everything. But this wasn’t back home. This was London. New building. New life.
“Come in,” I called out, forcing confidence into my voice.
The door opened slowly.
And there she was.
Tall. Effortlessly beautiful. Bright red lipstick so bold it almost glowed against her smooth skin. A brown tube top that hugged her frame, bright yellow biker shorts that looked like they belonged on someone fearless. Gold hoops. Perfectly arched brows.
Everything about her screamed wild confidence.
“Hi,” she said, leaning casually against the doorframe. Her British accent was thick and unapologetic. “Heard my new roommate had moved in, so I thought I’d say hello.”
“Oh..hi,” I replied, standing up quickly. “Nice to meet you.”
She grinned.
“An American!” she laughed. “This will be fun.”
Fun.
The word sounded like a promise and a warning all at once.
“I’m Zara,” she said, stepping fully into the room now, looking around with curious eyes. “And you are?”
I told her my name, "Courtney", she repeated it slowly, testing the way it sounded in her accent.
“Cute,” she decided.
“I was told there’d be a third roommate,” I said carefully. “They haven’t moved in yet?”
She rolled her eyes playfully. “Yeah, I was told the same thing. Apparently he’s mysterious or busy or something dramatic like that.”
He.
My chest tightened slightly.
“Guess we’ll just have fun while we wait,” she added with a wink.
Fun again.
Before I could overthink it, she clapped her hands together. “Right. You can’t sit in here all evening unpacking. First night in London? Absolutely not.”
“I just got off a flight”
“All the more reason,” she interrupted. “You need a proper welcome.”
“A welcome?” I raised a brow.
“To the pub, obviously,” she said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll show you around the area. Best way to warm up to the city.”
Part of me wanted to stay in. To finish unpacking. To stay safe inside my new room where everything was predictable.
But another part of me, the part that had just crossed an ocean me, knew I didn’t come here to hide.
“Okay,” I said.
Zara’s smile widened. “Brilliant. Give me ten minutes.”
The bar or in Zara's words the "pub" was louder than anything I’d experienced since landing.
Warm golden lights glowed against dark wooden beams. The air smelled like beer, fried food, and old laughter soaked into the walls. People crowded around small tables, voices layered in thick accents and easy conversation.
Zara moved through the space like she owned it.
“This,” she announced dramatically, gesturing around us, “is where half of Oxford makes bad decisions.”
“That’s reassuring,” I muttered.
She laughed, dragging me toward the bar.
The bartender greeted her like a regular. She ordered confidently, then glanced at me. “You drink?”
“Occasionally.”
“Good. Tonight qualifies.”
We found a small table near the window. Outside, London shimmered under streetlights. Cars passed in a steady rhythm. Groups of students walked by, laughing, scarves wrapped loosely around their necks.
Zara talked easily, about her course, about the city, about how she hated 8 a.m. lectures but loved midnight conversations.
“And the third roommate?” I asked casually.
She shrugged. “Met him once. Briefly. Keeps to himself. Comes in late. Leaves early.”
“Does he study here?”
“Yeah. Postgrad, I think. Law or something serious like that.”
Comes in late.
Leaves early.
I didn’t know why that stuck with me.
The pub grew louder as the night deepened. Music picked up. Conversations blurred. Zara introduced me to a few people whose names I immediately forgot.
For the first time , I wasn’t thinking about betrayal.
I was thinking about the way the city felt alive at night. How different the air tasted here. How anonymous I was.
Free.
By the time we finally left, the streets were quieter. The sky had deepened into navy. A light chill settled over everything.
We walked back toward St. Alden House, our footsteps echoing softly against cobblestones.
“You survived your first night,” Zara said proudly.
“Barely,” I laughed.
We climbed the stairs together, the building noticeably still at this hour.
When we reached our flat, Zara unlocked the door and stepped inside first.
Everything was dark.
Silent.
She yawned dramatically. “Right. I’m dead. If you hear weird noises at night, it’s probably just the pipes.”
“Comforting,” I said dryly.
She disappeared into her room with a lazy wave.
I stood in the hallway for a second.
The flat felt different at night.
Not scary.
Just… aware.
I shook the thought away and went into my room, closing the door behind me.
I didn’t bother changing much, just swapped into an oversized shirt and crawled into bed. My body was heavy from travel, from emotion, from the long stretch of the day.
As I drifted toward sleep, I vaguely registered something.
A faint sound.
Like the soft click of a door opening somewhere in the flat.
Slow. Careful.
I told myself it was nothing.
Just the third roommate finally arriving.
Just someone coming home.
And with that thought, thin and fragile, I let sleep take me.
- Writer
