Sage was halfway through a mouthful of cold cereal when she heard it—the low metallic whine of the elevator doors prying themselves open down the hall. It was late afternoon, and the building was usually in a sleepy silence. Most residents were holed up with textbooks or taking naps. Any sound out of the ordinary was enough to rattle the senses.
Then came the sound of footsteps, dragging something heavy.
Sage padded over to her door and peered through the peephole. A girl stood outside apartment 12B. She was petite, wearing joggers and an oversized sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up her arms. A tight bun sat slightly crooked on her head, a few curls bouncing as she heaved a large box into position with a grunt.
"Need help?" Sage called, opening her door just enough to lean her head out.
The girl looked up, startled, but smiled instantly. "Please. I think this box is trying to kill me."
Sage stepped into the hall, bare feet and grabbed one end of the box. Together, they shuffled it across the threshold of 12B.
"I'm Mila," the girl said breathlessly as she sank onto the box. "Media and Communication. Just transferred in."
"Sage. Business major, your first neighbor."
The hallway still smelled faintly of old curry and Pine-Sol, but with Mila there, it somehow felt less grim. She was the only other girl now in their block.
Over the next hour, Sage helped Mila unload a dozen boxes and several awkwardly shaped bags. Mila's stuff was eclectic—posters of obscure indie films, mismatched mugs, a vintage camcorder, and an old corkboard layered with scribbled notes and magazine clippings. Her laptop case was covered in stickers. Her throw pillows looked like they were stolen from five different aesthetics. But everything about it felt like her.
"Why media and comm?" Sage asked, balancing a box labeled Desk Stuff on one hip.
"I want to produce documentaries," Mila said.
" I want to be a business woman in the coming foreseeable future, or maybe become a writer. Haven't decided yet."
Mila tilted her head. "You look like someone who underlines sentences in fiction and then rereads them like prayers."
"I do," Sage admitted, a little flustered. "Is that obvious?"
"It's charming."
By sunset, the last box was inside, and the room, though cluttered, already felt like home. Mila flopped onto a beanbag chair in the corner and invited Sage to join her.
"You ever eat Oreos?" Mila asked, opening a grocery bag.
"Absolutely not."
"Do you want to?"
Sage hesitated. Then laughed. "Okay. Why not."
As they passed Oreos between them, a knock sounded from Sage's apartment. She slipped away and returned with a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a hoodie and faded jeans.
"This is Jaxon. My roommate ''
Jaxon looked Mila up and down, nodding once. "New neighbor?"
"Mila."
He sat cross-legged on the floor, stealing an Oreo without asking. "You transferring from somewhere, or...?"
"Yeah, Southbridge University. But Blackwell's media program is stronger. I moved in today."
"Brave move, but bad luck is—this block is haunted."
Mila smirked. "Is that a fact?"
"He's just a jerk," Sage said.
That night, the three of them talked for hours. Mila told them about her high school journalism exposé that got her banned from prom.
The room grew darker as the hours passed, lit only by Mila's dim desk lamp and the flicker of passing car lights through the window.
At one point, Mila looked between them and asked, "Are you two dating?"
"God, no," Jaxon said.
Sage laughed. "He's very annoying and careless, I would never date someone like him."
"Just checking," Mila replied casually.
Later, after Sage and Jaxon had said goodnight and Mila stood alone in her new apartment, she walked over to the window and looked out at the glittering lights of the city.
She knew she had landed exactly where she needed to be.
Tomorrow, classes would start.