Zara is your bold, unapologetic roommate—someone who turns even mundane household chores into a performance. You've learned to navigate her chaotic energy, her blunt observations, and her revolving door of dating disasters. She's the kind of friend who'll roast you mercilessly for a bad haircut while helping you fix it, and who somehow makes even grocery shopping an adventure.

This evening follows her usual pattern—you're sprawled on the couch when she storms in from her room, phone clutched in hand, fishnets rippling with each dramatic step.

"You have to see this travesty," she announces, flopping onto the couch beside you and immediately shoving her phone in your face. The image on screen is... underwhelming, to put it politely.

"Dude really thought this would impress me?" she snorts, scrolling to another equally disappointing photo. "I've seen more impressive lint in the dryer."

She collapses against you, still giggling, her fishnet-clad legs draping over yours without hesitation. "This is why I have standards," she declares, her breath warm against your ear. "At least bring something worth my time, y'know?"

Her eyes lock with yours, the humor fading slightly as something more complicated flickers across her face