Exams were finally over—the kind of over that lets you breathe again. Deep, real breaths, the kind that reach all the way into your bones. I wanted nothing more than to unwind with my friends and roommates before heading home for the break.
In our room, Zinny was already flopped across her bed like someone had unplugged her soul.
"Still no sign of Roommate Number Four?" she asked, her voice muffled into her pillow.
I chuckled. "She's a myth at this point."
The missing fourth roommate had become a running joke. Officially, we were assigned four, but the last bed had remained empty since the semester began. No luggage. No name. No sign she'd ever existed. We blamed everything strange on her—lost socks, mysterious creaks at night, even bad Wi-Fi. She was our invisible scapegoat, and we laughed through the mystery of whoever she might be.
"Honestly, she's probably a ghost," Zinny said, rolling onto her back with dramatic flair. "Or a federal agent. No in-between."
"Or maybe," I said, mock-serious, "she saw your pile of unwashed dishes and ran."
"Rude."
We burst into laughter just as Nadia knocked and peeked into the room. She didn't live with us—her room was across the hall—but she was here so often she may as well have.
"You two still being weird about the ghost roommate?" she asked, strolling in with a grin.
"It's tradition," Zinny said proudly.
Lizzy wasn't around—probably still at the library or out texting Kael. If she didn't show up soon, we were going to start calling her Roommate Number Four.
Later that day, while debating whether to sleep or start packing, I got a call from Steph—Stephanie from high school. She was in university too, not far from ours, and had just finished her exams.
"Let's do something tonight," she said. "Girls' night. I miss you."
I glanced around our messy room, then over at Zinny, who was scrolling through her phone.
"Let's go out," I said. "Us, Nadia, Lizzy, and Steph."
Zinny perked up. "Finally! I'm starting to forget what joy feels like."
Lizzy was supposed to join us too, but just before we were about to head out, she sent a voice note.
"Girls, I swear I was going to come, but Kael surprised me with a dinner reservation. I can't say no—he planned the whole thing! Rain check?"
Zinny rolled her eyes. "This is the third time she's ditched us for that man. At this point, they should start paying bride price."
"She better not expect us to plan her bridal shower if she keeps doing this," Nadia added with mock offence.
We teased Lizzy in the group chat for a few minutes, then let it go. Honestly, no one was mad. The evening still held promise.
We met Steph at a cozy spot just off campus—the kind of restaurant that smelled like pepper soup and charcoal-grilled chicken. She looked effortlessly chic, her hair in curls, gold hoops catching the light.
"Alora!" she squealed, hugging me tight. "You look the same. Except smarter and more stressed."
I laughed. "And you look like someone who's figured life out."
"Please, I cried into a tub of ice cream over a statistics paper two days ago."
We crammed into a corner booth—me, Zinny, Nadia, and Steph—and ordered the loudest, spiciest food we could find. The table was a riot of laughter and stories. Zinny reenacted the time she blanked out mid-exam and wrote her lecturer's name instead of the answer. Nadia confessed she nearly submitted a shopping list instead of her coursework. Steph talked about sleepwalking into her roommate's bed and demanding answers to a calculus problem.
"Okay, but real talk," Steph said, twirling her straw and leaning in like she was about to spill state secrets. "What's going on with your love life? I used to think Marcel was the Him—but. You're just Alora. You keep surprising me."
That drew immediate attention.
"Ouuu! Who's Marcel?" Nadia and Zinny chorused, eyes lighting up like kids discovering gossip candy.
I chuckled, already regretting inviting Steph. "Please, it's no big deal. He's just my best friend from high school."
"Bestieee," Zinny purred, dragging the word out like velvet. Her voice dipped an octave, playful and suggestive. "I love the sound of that."
I shot her a sharp look. "Zinny, breathe. He's just my friend."
She rolled her eyes with a smirk but quieted down.
"We're honestly just great friends," I said more firmly. "Don't read more into it."
Steph didn't blink. She sipped her drink, eyes twinkling. "Speak for yourself, though. I'm sure it's more than that for him. But what do I know?"
I reached over and smacked her arm playfully. She giggled, and the table burst into laughter again.
Then Nadia, with her perfectly timed chaos, added, "You know my brother told Alora he liked her, right? And ever since, she iced him out. Meanwhile, she's dying inside."
The laughter tapered.
My jaw dropped. "Nadia!"
"What? You are!"
"It's complicated," I said quickly, eyes now locked on the untouched fries on my plate.
The mood shifted—not darker, just... deeper.
"Complicated how?" Steph asked gently.
I hesitated. How could I explain it in a breath? The way Weston made my heart clench and expand at once. The way silence was easier than choosing. How Marcel was always there—expecting nothing, asking for nothing—but still managing to feel like home.
Zinny leaned back, arms crossed, lips pursed. "You like Weston," she said plainly.
"I liked... the idea of him," I corrected.
"Girl." Nadia raised her brows, unimpressed.
"Besides, I saw him with a girl all lovey-dovey, and he didn't even say a word to me. Maybe that ship has sailed."
Nadia nudged me under the table. "Wait—describe the girl you saw him with."
I hesitated. "Tall. Curvy. Skin like bronze. She wore this bright mustard crop top and jeans that fit like they were stitched to her."
Nadia froze mid-sip. Then, she burst into laughter.
I frowned. "What?"
"Alora, that's Cynthia."
"Cynthia?"
"Our cousin!" Nadia said, still laughing. "Weston and Cynthia are practically siblings. He checks up on her all the time. They've been close since forever. She stays in our hostel, too."
I blinked. "So... she's not his girlfriend?"
"No! Ew," she scrunched her nose. "He's fond of her, yes, but that's it. I thought you knew."
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"You never told me any of this until now!" Nadia laughed so hard she had to wipe her eyes. "All this time, you've been sulking over Weston hugging our cousin?"
Zinny leaned forward. "Nah, this calls for action. You need to text him. Now."
Steph nodded. "Absolutely. Enough running."
I slumped into my seat. "You guys are ganging up on me."
"That's exactly what we're doing," Nadia said. "You've been acting like he stabbed you in the heart. Meanwhile, he's out here being a family man."
Steph slid my phone across the table. "You don't have to pour out your soul. Just say hi. Open the door."
Zinny added, "Send something flirty. A little 'Hey boo boo' never killed anybody."
"I'm not sending 'Hey boo boo'" I deadpanned.
Eventually, I typed: Hey. I've been meaning to talk. Hope you're okay.
I hovered for a second, then hit send.
Immediately, my heart rate doubled.
"Proud of you," Steph said, raising her glass.
"Braver than I was," Nadia murmured.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
She hesitated, her voice softening. "I was in love once. His name was Harrison."
Steph's smile faded. Zinny leaned forward.
"Harrison was my first everything," Nadia said. "We met in high school. He used to walk me to class with his backpack slung over one shoulder like some silly romcom guy. He made me believe in the kind of love that waits—even when you're stubborn."
She stared into her glass.
"He died in a car accident two years ago."
The words landed heavy. Even in the buzz of the restaurant, it felt like everything paused.
"I didn't talk about it much when we met," she continued. "Didn't want to be 'the girl with the dead boyfriend.' But... I still feel it. Sometimes in the mornings. Sometimes when I hear a song he liked."
Steph reached out, placing a hand over hers. "You're healing. And that's brave."
We raised our glasses.
"To Harrison," Zinny said, voice steady.
"To first loves," Steph added.
"To love, even when it hurts," I whispered.
We clinked our glasses.
The silence afterwards wasn't awkward. It was full. Sacred.
Then Zinny fanned herself dramatically. "Okay, now I need ice cream and a romcom."
We laughed, grateful for the release.
As the conversation shifted—Steph detailing a disastrous talking stage with a med student who ghosted her mid-Snapchat streak, Zinny recounting how she once crushed on a guy who turned out to be her cousin's ex—I sat back and soaked it in.
The stories. The grief. The hope. The courage.
Somewhere between heartbreak and healing, we were all trying.
And maybe, just maybe, I was finally ready to try too.