MasukI woke up as early as I possibly could, eager to escape the room before the day fully began.
The arrogant guy was still asleep, completely at peace, as though he had no responsibilities or classes to attend. I shot him a displeased glance before getting ready and leaving for lectures.
I made no friends, spoke to no one—just me, myself, and my solitude.
On my way back to the residence, I spotted Raihan surrounded by his boys, hovering around him like persistent flies.
From a distance, I saw students invading his personal space, touching him, laughing, and clinging to him in a way that bordered on intimate familiarity. But it wasn’t my concern. I turned away and continued walking.
I stopped by the mart to pick up a few essentials for dinner, moving through the aisles with quiet purpose.
I was alone when Drey an unfamiliar face I had no interest in knowing approached me, attempting to intrude on my space with introductions and forced familiarity. I didn’t slow down, didn’t react. I simply slipped on my headset and continued shopping, my silence deliberate, my indifference absolute, treating him as though he was beneath acknowledgment.
“What is wrong with these riffraff… do they genuinely believe they’re worthy of my attention?” I muttered under my breath, my voice dripping with disdain. “Pathetic.”
I returned to the residence, dropped my books onto the desk, and went over my notes in quiet focus. Afterwards, I moved to the kitchen, prepared a steak, and made myself a glass of juice for dinner, settling into solitude for the rest of the evening.
I had already fallen asleep when the doorbell rang, and despite my exhaustion, I had no choice but to get up. Glancing at the time, it was well past 10 p.m.
Dragging myself to the door, I opened it only to be met with Lucas raising his voice, complaining about how long I took to answer.
"what do you have to take forever to get my door "he said.
I cut him off sharply, my irritation evident. “It’s our door, not your door. And secondly, do I look like your security guard?”
“Oh my God… what have I gotten myself into?” I breathed out in frustration, running a hand through my hair. “Not even a moment of peace anymore…”
Stepping closer, my tone turned colder. “If something like this happens again, I’ll make sure you sleep outside next time.”
After delivering my warning, I retreated to my bed, convinced the confrontation had finally come to an end.
I had barely settled beneath the covers when the room was suddenly flooded with harsh light. My eyes snapped open.Raihan had switched on every light in the room.As if that wasn’t enough, he casually connected his phone to a speaker and let music reverberate through the confined space. The volume wasn’t deafening, but it was loud enough to shatter any hope of sleep.
A smug smirk played on his lips as he scrolled through his phone, completely unbothered by my presence.
The infuriating bastard was doing it deliberately.
The following morning, I woke up expecting a moment of peace.
Instead, I was greeted by absolute chaos.
Half the room had been completely commandeered by Raihan. Designer outfits were draped carelessly over chairs, luxury watches littered the desk, and an assortment of expensive footwear was scattered across the floor as though the room were his personal dressing suite.
I stood there in stunned disbelief, my irritation mounting with every passing second.
The arrogant jerk hadn't merely moved in—he had laid claim to the room.
My jaw clenched.
This was exactly why I preferred solitude.
And judging by the mess before me, living with Raihan was going to test the limits of my patience.
Since it was the weekend, I took my time preparing breakfast for myself. The residence was unusually quiet, allowing me to immerse myself in one of my father's favorite songs.
As the melody drifted through the room, I found myself reaching for our family photograph. I carefully wiped the dust from the frame, my fingers lingering over the familiar faces staring back at me.
A sharp ache settled in my chest.
Once I was done, I retreated to the bathroom, hoping to compose myself in private. Instead, the walls witnessed what no one else ever did.
The tears came without restraint.
I slid down against the wall, sobbing like a child as grief consumed me. No matter how much time passed, the loss never seemed to hurt any less.
A sudden knock on the bathroom door jolted me from my thoughts.
Startled, I hastily wiped my face before opening it.
Raihan stood on the other side.
The moment his eyes landed on my tear-stained face, a smirk tugged at his lips.
"Seriously?" he scoffed. "Were you in there crying?"
Heat rushed to my face.
He chuckled, clearly amused by my misery.
"Pathetic."
He continued to mock me, tossing out one taunt after another, completely oblivious to the reason behind my tears.
If only he knew that I wasn't crying over something trivial.
I was mourning people I could never get back.
I slept all through the day,I had no friends to visit .
It was sometime in the evening when the door suddenly swung open without so much as a warning.
Three of Raihan's friends sauntered into the room as if they owned the place, their laughter echoing through the confined space. Apparently, knocking was a concept completely foreign to them.
Within minutes, the room had transformed into a social gathering I had never agreed to attend.
They sprawled across chairs, occupied my space, and carried on with an alarming lack of self-awareness. One of them draped himself over Raihan's shoulder, another remained glued to his side, while the third seemed determined to monopolize his attention.
Raihan, naturally, appeared to be enjoying every second of it.
The sight alone was enough to aggravate me.
I watched from my desk, my irritation mounting with every passing minute. The noise, the constant laughter, the blatant disregard for personal boundaries—it was insufferable.
At one point, Raihan leaned over and kissed one of them, earning a chorus of teasing remarks from the others.
I immediately looked away.
Seriously?
Couldn't they take this nonsense to a club, a café, or literally anywhere else?
Why did it have to be in our room?
And more importantly, why did I have to witness it?
A frustrated sigh escaped me as I reached for my headset.
Living with him meant a gradual erosion of control over everything,beginning with my sanity.
Lucas..**Morning**The alarm went off at the usual time, which meant Raihan groaned into the pillow and I reached over him to shut it up.“Why is it always louder on days we actually need to get up?” he muttered.“It’s the same volume every day.”“Then every day is a crime.”I sat up slowly, testing my ribs out of habit. The sharp edge of pain had dulled into something more manageable. Across the small hostel room, Raihan’s bed was a mess of blankets, one of my hoodies half-buried in them from the night before. Living in the same room had stopped feeling temporary weeks ago. His charger was permanently tangled with mine on the desk. My notes had started appearing on his side of the shelf. Someone — probably Ana — had already started calling it “their room” without thinking about it.Raihan eventually dragged himself upright, hair flattened on one side.“Lecture first or coffee first?”“Coffee,” I said. “If I try to learn anything on an empty brain I’ll start agreeing with Noah.”“Dan
LUCAS.. Mr. King came the next evening. He didn’t call ahead. He simply appeared at the hostel door with a dark leather bag in his good hand and the same carefully controlled expression he always wore when something important was about to happen. Raihan let him in. I stayed seated on the edge of the bed, already knowing what the bag contained. “I thought it was better if I brought these myself,” Mr. King said. He set the bag down on the desk. “The police have the original documents from the box. These are the personal things. They belong to you.” He didn’t linger. After a short look at both of us, he left again, the door closing softly behind him. For a while neither of us moved. Raihan sat down beside me. “You don’t have to open it right now.” “I do,” I said. My hands were steadier than I expected when I unzipped the bag. Inside, everything was carefully packed. A watch with a worn leather strap. A small stack of photographs bound with a faded ribbon. A leather journal
LUCAS…The door finally clicked shut behind the last of them.Ana’s voice still echoed faintly down the hallway, mixed with Ava’s laughter and Ethan’s exaggerated complaints about who had burned the eggs. Then the sound faded, and the hostel room settled into a thick, sudden quiet. The plates were stacked in the sink. The cards were scattered across the bed. The air still smelled faintly of oil and seasoning.Raihan stood near the desk, shoulders slightly hunched, bandaged wrists resting loosely at his sides. The afternoon light coming through the thin curtains caught the edge of the tape on his cheek. He looked exhausted. He also looked like he had been holding himself together for too many hours in a row.I locked the door.When I turned back, he was already watching me.Neither of us spoke at first. The silence stretched, heavy with everything we hadn't been able to say while other people were in the room. Then Raihan pushed away from the desk and crossed the small space between u
LUCAS They discharged the next morning.Mr. King’s shoulder was secured in a proper sling, the wound cleaned and stitched. Raihan’s wrists were freshly bandaged, the cut on his cheek closed with a small strip of tape. My own ribs were wrapped tightly, and the swelling along my jaw had turned a deep, ugly shade of purple. None of us looked like we belonged in ordinary daylight, but the doctors had done what they could and signed the papers.Mr. King insisted on driving.The ride back to campus was quiet. Raihan sat in the front beside his father. I sat behind them, watching the city move past the window, still half-expecting the night’s violence to catch up with us somehow. Every so often Raihan glanced back at me, as if checking I was still there. Each time I gave him a small nod.When we turned onto the final road leading to the hostels, Mr. King slowed the car.“You two should rest,” he said. “I’ll have the remaining documents and your father’s belongings brought over once the poli
LUCAS..For a long time I didn’t speak.The things Mr. King had just told me sat in the room like a third presence — heavy, immovable, rewriting every memory I had of my own life. My father had a twin. That twin had arranged his death. The man sitting across from me had believed I died on that same bridge. And for weeks I had walked through his house, slept under his roof, eaten at his table, while he recognized my father’s eyes and said nothing.Raihan’s hand stayed around mine. He didn’t rush me. Neither did his father.Finally I found my voice.“The letter,” I said. “You said my father wrote me a letter.”Mr. King nodded once. “Yes. It’s still in the cabinet at the house, with the rest of his things. As soon as they discharge us, I’ll take you there myself.”“I want to read it alone first.”“Of course.”Another silence stretched. My ribs ached. My jaw throbbed where Daniel’s fist had landed. None of it compared to the pressure behind my eyes.“You really thought I was dead all thes
LUCAS…The hospital room was quiet except for the low hum of machines and the occasional footsteps in the corridor. Raihan sat beside me on the bed, his bandaged wrists resting on his knees. They kept us at the hospital longer than either of us wanted.Mr. King’s shoulder required stitches and observation. Raihan was cleared but told to rest his wrists and avoid strain. I was given stronger painkillers for my ribs and jaw and instructed not to sleep flat on my back. None of us listened particularly well.Sometime past midnight, a nurse finally allowed us to stay in the same room. Raihan shifted over on the narrow hospital bed without a word, and I lay down beside him carefully, mindful of every bruise. The bed was too small. Neither of us cared.For a long time we just listened to the quiet sounds of the hospital — distant monitors, soft footsteps in the hallway, the occasional murmur of voices.“I keep seeing it,” Raihan said eventually, staring up at the ceiling. “The gun. Victor’s







