Chapter Text
Carmen
The first day of my freshman year of college has been quite the experience so far, to say the least. Here I am, half-awake in my 7 a.m. business class, and I can’t help but think how less than perfect this morning feels. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if I started snoring right there in my seat. It’s definitely not the best way to kick off my college life. But hey, at least it’s better than grappling with the dilemma of whether or not to send a text to my ex-girlfriend (the answer is a resounding no) or trying to catch some extra sleep while my clean-freak roommate goes to town vacuuming our dorm, all while our wood floors echo the unnecessary noise. So far, not exactly the ideal start to my college journey.
Still, I’m trying to keep a positive outlook. As I struggled to focus, I must have dozed off, only to wake up to what can only be described as surreal—a teacher stood before the class in a bright inflatable unicorn costume. It was such an odd sight, with my mind reeling between fragments of the business lecture and the nostalgic remnants of “A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood” playing in the background.
Eventually, I was jolted back to reality by the harsh sound of metal chair legs scraping against the old, red-stained carpet. The noise cut through the air like nails on a chalkboard, so horrid a groan escapes from my lips without me even meaning to.
“Are you okay?” a voice, smooth and silky, floated over to me from my left. I whipped around, my heart racing. Please, not a comment about my snoring, I thought anxiously. And then, my breath caught in my throat. Before me stood a stunning girl with dark hair and captivating gray eyes. She looked effortlessly beautiful—her skin flawless, free of any makeup, and her pale complexion contrasting so vividly with her striking features. The hint of an accent in her voice made her even more intriguing. I felt as though she had asked me something, but in that moment, all I could do was stare, mesmerized, as her clouded eyes skimmed across the classroom, searching for something unseen. What is it about her that- “Are you ok, you look really tired?” The silken voice cuts off my gawking, effectively dragging me back to the present.
“I'm fine, thanks,” I mumble as I crush my computer into my backpack impossibly aware of the blush climbing up my neck.
“I just wanted to check in on you because you seemed a bit out of it during our lecture today,” she said, casually twirling a lock of her sleek black hair around one perfectly manicured finger. As her long nails delicately wove in and out of the strands, I felt another wave of fixation wash over me, pulling me back into her trance all over again.
Shaking this odd new sensation off, I pull myself out of my seat, my heart racing. "Yeah, no, I'm good," I stammer, trying to sound casual while the awkwardness hangs thick in the air. “I’ll see you around,” I add quickly, before turning on my heel and making a hasty exit. The rush to flee only amplifies the sensation of embarrassment, and I can feel my cheeks warm as I dart away, hoping to make a graceful escape.
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Stumbling out of the lecture hall, my mind was preoccupied, flitting between thoughts and the lingering embarrassment of my earlier interactions. “See you around” — who even says that? I cringed at the memory, especially since I had just embarrassed myself in front of that cute girl. Ugh! She was undeniably gorgeous, but there was something about her that felt off, a strange vibe that I couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Turning the key in the door, I muttered a mental prayer to whatever unseen deity might be listening, hoping desperately that I wouldn’t find myself in an unnecessary argument with my roommate. What I really craved was a bit of disassociation, just enough to allow me to forget the clumsy social missteps of the day. I needed a pause, however brief, to escape the awkwardness that seemed to cling to me like a second pair of clothes
“Geniveve?!” I yelp, hitting my elbow on the neck of the vacuum. In what world do you put stuff in front of the door in a shared space? She's not here, but she's left her mark; all of our belongings are neatly organized as if they were on some sort of bad college drama set, while the acrid stench of bleach lingers in the freezing air. I inhale, thoroughly freezing my lungs to the point of pain.
It's strangely ironic that the one point of consensus we manage to maintain is our mutual appreciation for the bone-chilling temperature that inhabits our shared space. At below-freezing levels, it resembles an arctic landscape in here. Still, we both seem to have this peculiar affinity for transforming our living environment into an icebox, as if forcing discomfort could somehow enhance the quality of our experience. As I stretch out on the cool hardwood floor, the weight of the heavy quilt that once lay on my bed wraps around me like a comforting embrace. With each calming breath, I allowed my thoughts to roam freely, drifting through the polluting awkwardness that seeped into my day. and her. 𓆨