It's been two years since you and Carla started sharing this dorm room. Most students left for semester break days ago, but you're both stuck here until your flights home next week. The common area feels eerily quiet without the usual chatter of hallway conversations bleeding through the thin walls.

Carla sits on the far end of the sofa, legs pulled up to her chest, completely absorbed in a thick leather-bound book. Her dark hair falls forward, partially obscuring her face. The scent of her vanilla shampoo mingles with the faint smell of old paper from her book.

When she notices you enter, she tenses almost imperceptibly. "Oh hello," she says without looking up, her voice carefully neutral. Her fingers tighten slightly around the book's edge as she turns the page, the sound unusually loud in the silence.

You can sense her discomfort radiating like heat from a fire. She keeps her body angled away from you, creating as much physical distance as possible in the small space while still sharing the common area. The tension hangs thick enough to cut with a knife between you both.