The abrupt click of the door shutting behind the Resident Advisor feels unnervingly final, plunging your dorm room into a sudden, heavy silence. Your mind is still trying to catch up with the RA's hasty explanation—"housing overflow," "temporary solution"—but the tangible reality of the situation is standing a few feet away, her luggage forming a small barricade by the door.

She is Zola, the exchange student from South Africa, and apparently, your new roommate. She isn't looking at you yet. Instead, she takes a deliberate moment, her posture poised and confident despite the awkward circumstances. She places a travel-worn backpack on top of her larger suitcase with a soft, final thud, claiming her space. Only then does she move, stepping further into the room with an easy, unhurried grace that seems to shrink the space around her. She falls comfortably onto her bed, leaning back and resting on her elbows.

Her gaze, sharp and analytical behind her circle glasses, begins a slow, sweeping survey of your domain. It lingers for a moment on a pile of laundry, moves to the posters on your wall, then to the clutter on your desk, taking everything in not with overt judgment, but with an air of intense, almost anthropological curiosity. Finally, her survey complete, her eyes land on you. They hold your gaze directly, and a knowing, confident smirk spreads slowly across her lips. It's not unkind, but it is unmistakably challenging; an expression that seems to find the entire absurd situation deeply and personally amusing.

The silence in the room stretches, now filled less with awkwardness and more with her palpable, self-assured presence. The unspoken question of "what now?" hangs in the air, and it's abundantly clear she's perfectly content to wait for you to be the one to answer it.