Meeting My Roommate

But then, another message from WhatsApp pops up, causing my heart to freeze and my eyes to widen in shock.

I lose my grip on my phone, and it lands hard on my nose, making me wince in pain. I can already smell the blood.

What the hell?

I sit up quickly, ignoring the pain in my nose, and click on the message.

The message leads me straight to WhatsApp, where I'm immediately confronted with our old conversations.

And then I see it: Kendrick's name, staring back at me as the sender.

My heart skips a beat as I hesitate, my pupils fluttering over the message.

Kendrick's message reads: "Hey, you made it to the uni right?"

I frown, my brow furrowed in puzzlement. Why is he contacting me now after months of silence?

My eyes hover over the message, my mind racing with questions. Should I ignore him or respond?

I set my phone down, feeling a knot in my stomach, and stand up to pace around the room.

My feet carry me in circles as I try to process my emotions. Why is he texting me now? And why do I still feel a flutter in my chest at the prospect of talking to him?

I glance down at my belongings and walk over to them, my hands reaching for the blue-colored table.

I bend to pick it up, the unfixed legs poking out awkwardly from the transparent nylon packaging.

But the message I received earlier echoes in my mind: "you made it to the uni right?"

Maybe it was meant for someone else. Why would he contact me now after all this time? He even has a girlfriend, so what business does he have with me now?

As I hold the table, another notification rings, its insistent chime pulling my attention like a magnet.

My phone's lock screen taunts me, refusing to reveal the sender's identity. I've set it this way for a reason, but now my fingers itch to swipe away the screen and uncover the mystery.

I resist the urge, breaking the magnetic pull and refocusing on the table.

I carefully unwrap the table, the nylon crackling as I pull it apart. The table's surface is smooth with a new plastic smell, a welcome distraction from the lingering questions in my mind.

I stand up and organize the table, carefully positioning all four legs. Then, I place it close to my bed, along with the chair. Organizing my belongings will surely help take my mind off Kendrick.

I unzip a bag containing my devices and arrange them neatly on the table, their screens and cables organized in a tidy row.

Next, out of curiosity, I approach one of the doors and slowly push it open, revealing a bathroom that's surprisingly nice, despite the dust stains on the sink and toilet.

The air is stale, but the bathroom looks like it's been recently renovated, with sleek tiles and a modern showerhead.

The once-pristine walls now wear a brown hue, and everything else seems to have followed suit. Despite the grimy appearance, the space has all the essential amenities, which is a relief.

I take a deep breath, deciding to roll up my sleeves and tackle the grime myself, sparing my roommate the stress.

I retrieve the necessary cleaning supplies from a blue bag thoughtfully packed by my mom - "for the toilet," she had said - and get to work.

With detergents, hypo, sponge, toilet brush, and other essentials in hand, I scrub the bathroom with gusto.

As I work, my back and arms begin to ache, but I push through the discomfort, determined to restore the space to its former glory.

Finally, I step back and admire my handiwork, standing tall at the bathroom entrance with my hands on my hips, beaming with pride.

The once-grimy bathroom now sparkles like new, radiating a refreshing aura and filling the air with the sweet scent of Viva detergent and hypo.

I take a deep breath, savoring the cool air as it fills my lungs. I can't help but think my roommate will be impressed.

"Good job, Mandy!" I exclaim, giving myself a triumphant pat on the shoulder.

I then remove my nose mask, hand gloves, and shower cap, wash them quickly, and hang them on the window to dry.

As I gaze out the window, I notice the outside view: a cream-painted wall and a clothesline with pegs for hanging laundry.

"Not bad at all," I say, my voice echoing in the bathroom.

I turn around, exit the bathroom, and close the door slowly, gazing at it with satisfaction. I did well.

Next, I head back to my bed and start unpacking, hanging my clothes on the hangers I brought and claiming half the wardrobe space as my own. The remaining half will be for my roommate.

I definitely can't wait till she gets back before unpacking.

I tuck my bag of clothes beneath the already-hung garments, as the wardrobe is too small to accommodate everything.

Next, I stash my cartons of noodles and bundles of drinks in the narrow space between my bed and table.

With a bit of struggle, I manage to place the remaining bag of clothes on top of the wardrobe, using my chair for support.

Finally, I give the room a quick once-over and sweep the dirt into a trash bag.

Everything now looks tidy, and it only took a few hours - I lost track of time in the process.

I'm completely drained, my energy depleted, and my muscles ache from the physical labor.

I trudge over to the bed, my legs wobbling beneath me, and collapse onto the mattress, feeling the fatigue spread throughout my body.

"Haaaah, I'm so tired!" I exclaim, my chest heaving with exhaustion.

One more bag remains, containing my foodstuffs and utensils, but the thought of standing up and heading to the kitchen feels like a monumental task.

I've done my part in tidying the room and toilet, so I assume my roommate will take care of the kitchen.

Just as I'm about to drift off, female voices and the creaking door handle jolt me awake.

My heart races with excitement as I force myself to sit up, propping my back against the headboard.

That's must be my roommate!

The door swings open, revealing a girl who appears to be a bit older than me, judging by her voluptuous curves and striking figure, which commands attention and turns heads.

Oblivious to my presence, she chats with someone behind her, whom I can barely see, but whose eyes lock onto mine.

But which one is my roommate?

Neither of them carries a bag, just purses. But then, the girl in front turns to face me, her gaze locking onto mine.

I suspect her friend must have nudged her, and suddenly, I'm struck by a sense of déjà vu.

Her light brown skin, her curves, everything about her seems familiar.

I frown, my mind racing with the question: where have we met before?

The memories tantalize me, just out of reach.

"Hello," she says, waving at me.

Her voice is surprisingly high-pitched, almost childlike, which belies her mature appearance. The contrast is jarring, yet endearing.

I manage to transform my frown into a smile, not wanting to seem rude, but I can't shake the feeling that I've met or seen her somewhere before.

She turns her head to the side, says something to the other girl behind her, and before I know it, the other girl is gone.

She faces me again with a smile, and I notice the adorable dimple on either side of her mouth. She's really cute, I must admit.

"So, that's my bed, right?" she asks, pointing to the bed opposite mine.

"Uhm, yeah, yeah, it's yours," I respond.

She nods, closes the door with a gentle click, and walks to her bed, her shoes clicking on the floor.

But I frown, realizing she doesn't have any bags with her.

"Uhm, sorry to ask, but where are your bags? I don't see them anywhere."

She flops onto her bed, and my eyes involuntarily stare at her bouncing breasts, her erect nipples visibly poking through her dress.

Wait, isn't she wearing a bra?

"You'll see them soon, my driver will bring everything in," she says, and I quickly divert my gaze back to her, blinking rapidly as if to clear my vision.

"Uhm, t-that's nice," I manage to stammer.

"Yeah, it saves the stress," she replies with a chuckle, and I find myself captivated by the black outline of her lips and the subtle shine of her lip gloss.

Her plump, small lips add to her cuteness, making me feel even more self-conscious about my own appearance.

I can't help but think that God spent a lot of time creating her.

"The room looks really nice, I must say," she continues, and I nod rapidly, still distracted by her beauty.

"It really is. Chisom chose the best for sure."

"Oh, yeah, she told me her cousin was going to be staying here too," she says, and I nod again, trying to play it cool.

"Y-yeah."

"'So, my name is Amara, and you?" She asks, her white sclera shining with a calm intensity.

"My name is Amanda, but I prefer Mandy," I reply.

"Mandy," she murmurs, her tiny voice sending a warm flutter through my heart as she says my name.

"You have a native name, don't you?" she inquires, her eyes shining with curiosity, a spark that would make anyone want to open up to her without hesitation, and I find myself answering her question with rapid fire as if my words are eager to escape.

"Well, Amanda is short for Chimamanda, but people often detach the Amanda from its full name and call me that because it sounds like the English name Amanda."

Her eyes light up briefly as she nods, "That's interesting."

"Yes, it is," I say, smiling at her interest. "My parents named me Chimamanda, which means 'my God will not fall" in Igbo."

"That's beautiful!' she exclaims. "I love the meaning behind it."

"Thanks," I say, feeling a bit flustered.

"Well, I've already shared my native name with you, Amarachi."

"Hmm, yeah," I nod in acknowledgment.

"But feel free to call me Kelly - that's my English name," she adds with a smile.

I repeat her name, "Kelly," letting the sound of it sink in.

"I prefer it when people call me Kelly," she confesses, her gaze drifting towards the ceiling. "It just sounds unique."

"Indeed it does," I agree. "I'll make sure to call you Kelly, then," I say, and her face lights up with a radiant grin.

"I'm sure we'll become great friends, Amanda," she says, her words filling me with excitement.

I nod enthusiastically, already imagining the fun times we'll share together.

"I must confess, Kelly, you look absolutely stunning," I say, folding my legs and leaning in slightly.

"Oh, thank you, that's so sweet of you!" she replies with a chuckle, her cheeks flushing slightly, and it's visible due to her light skin tone.

"And I have to ask, have we met before?" I continue, my eyes narrowing slightly as I study her face. "You seem so familiar, but I just can't place where or when we might have met."

I tilt my head to the side, intrigued by this sudden sense of déjà vu.

She just feels so familiar.