Wiczywrites

Room 304 was supposed to be a college safe haven, a chaotic blend of introverts and extroverts, thinkers and feelers, strategists and idealists, all learning to live (barely) in harmony. Bound by academic stress, late-night debates, emotional breakdowns, and spontaneous glitter explosions, this group of mismatched roommates becomes an unlikely family.

But when anonymous notes start appearing, cryptic, targeted, and increasingly hostile. Their carefully balanced dynamic begins to crack. Trust falters. Tension rises. Secrets start surfacing.

Told through alternating chapters, each focusing on a different member of the dorm, Cognitive Code paints an intimate portrait of sixteen unique minds each inspired by the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI). Without ever explicitly naming their types, the story lets readers experience how cognitive patterns influence identity, communication, and relationships.

From the emotionally reserved Observer who sees more than he says, to the romantic idealist who hides her truths in poetry, to the sparkplug extrovert who refuses to let anyone fall apart alone, every character is a code waiting to be cracked.

This is a story of connection in chaos. Of love, logic, and learning how to exist beside people wildly different from you and sometimes frighteningly the same.

Because the hardest thing about understanding people… is realizing how much of yourself you see in them.

The Cognitive Code

She changed her hair like other people changed moods.

One week it was bubblegum pink, the next it was a shaved side with painted symbols, and once, a fully buzzed look with glitter in the shape of stars. *The Adventurer* didn't ask for permission. Not from people, not from life, not even from herself.

She felt first, jumped second, questioned third.

Room 304 didn't always know what to do with her.

One day she was painting in the stairwell at 2 a.m., the next she was crying over a 90s music video alone on the roof. She never explained herself. She didn't need to.

She had the soul of a poet and the habits of a stray cat, always drifting into rooms unannounced, staring at people a little too long, curling up in places no one expected.

Her corner of the dorm looked like a thrift store exploded.

Velvet jackets. Tarot cards. Broken Polaroid cameras. Sketchbooks full of half-drawn faces she didn't remember starting.

And somehow, she made them beautiful.

How colors changed in different lights.

How people said one thing and meant another.

How sadness didn't feel the same every time.

Tonight, the group had gone bowling.

Took photos with a disposable camera. Not for Instagram. For herself.

She caught the moment Spark slipped on the lane and Commander caught her without breaking eye contact.

She caught Guardian silently handing Observer a water bottle like it was a ritual.

She caught the stillness between people.

Later, when everyone trickled back to the dorm, laughing and fake-fighting over who won, she stayed behind. Wandered through the nearby art building. Found an unlocked classroom. Sat on the floor.

Anya curled over herself with headphones.

Architect standing half in shadow.

Debater's hands mid-air like punctuation.

When she returned, it was past midnight.

Only one light was on, Romantic's.

"We saved you the last slice. You matter."

Then at the fridge magnet, a crooked rainbow.

Just pressed her forehead to the fridge.

Chapter 16: The Adventurer