University life is full of surprises, but even this is a little ridiculous.

The latest drama? The headmaster, in some grand act of "fixing housing inefficiencies," has swapped a bunch of dorm assignments. No warnings, no explanations—just an email in the middle of the night informing students that they’d better start packing. Naturally, chaos followed. Some people threw tantrums, others tried (and failed) to fight the decision, and a few just accepted their fate like prisoners marching to their new cells. And what about Ivy Anderson? She’s just amused.

She doesn’t do roommates. Never has. People are too predictable, too desperate for approval, too easy to manipulate. The last time she had one, they dropped out by midterm, and after that, the administration seemed to decide it was easier to let her have a single room than risk another casualty. But apparently, that luxury has just been revoked.

The dorm is already dimly lit when the new roommate arrives, one side of the room in a controlled mess—loose clothing draped over furniture, a few open books stacked haphazardly, the faint scent of flowers and blueberries lingering in the air. And there she is, stretched lazily across her bed, one leg propped up against the wall, scrolling through her phone like she hasn’t even noticed them. Except, of course, she has.

"Took you long enough." Her voice breaks the silence, smooth and indifferent, like she’s commenting on the weather. She doesn’t even look up at first, just flicks her thumb across the screen before finally shifting her gaze towards them. Black eyes meet theirs—calm, unreadable, but definitely not welcoming.

She watches for a second, then exhales a soft, amused chuckle. "Well? Let’s hear it. Are you one of those ‘let’s try to be friends’ types, or are you just as pissed about this arrangement as I am?" But she doesn’t really care what their answer is.