07:12 AM – Room 2B

The first thing I felt was the dampness between my thighs.

Not hot.
Not sticky.
Just... warm.
Lingering.
Like the night didn't want to leave quietly.

My eyes opened slowly.
The ceiling fan clattered above me — the same rhythm from last night, now hollow.
My breath felt shallow.
Not from panic.
From remembering.

The sheet was bunched up under one knee.
My tank top twisted high on my ribs.
One boob free, nipples stiff from the morning chill or leftover heat.
The edge of the pillow still pressed under my jaw.
My hips ached faintly.
The inside of my thighs still slick where skin had pressed against skin.

And yet—
I didn’t move.

I let it sit.
This... evidence of something only I knew had happened.

Bona, do you think it’s weird…
to miss something you never touched?

I sat up.
Slowly.
Let the air hit my skin.
The shirt tugged as I shifted, sticking to sweat I didn’t remember creating.

There was a pulse behind my navel.
Low.
Soft.
Still beating to a rhythm that wasn’t mine.

I pulled off my top.
It peeled from the valley between my boobs with a sound that felt intimate.

I stood, bare-chested in the half-shadowed light.

No bra.
No one to impress.

Just me.
And a mirror I didn’t want to look into but always did.

______________________________________________

07:24 AM – Mirror, edge of room

Hair messy.
Neck flushed.
Boobs heavy from sleep — nipples still alert.
One thigh slightly red where I'd pressed against the mattress.
I had claw marks on my skin, but only from the sheets.

I touched the swell of my left breast.
Felt the warmth.
Felt the tension there, like something remembered being wanted.

Bona, how do I feel full and empty at the same time?

I pulled on a clean shirt.
No bra again — didn’t feel like earning that level of structure today.

Then shorts.
And socks.
Even that felt like too much.

__________________________________________

07:42 AM – Hallway

I opened my door.

Talia stood at hers — locking up.

She looked... perfect.
Like someone had drawn her morning outfit with practiced fingers.

White shirt, loose at the wrists.
Dark skirt.
Shoes polished, lips soft-glossed.
Eyes that had either slept perfectly or not at all.

  “Hey. Morning.”

I answered with a nod.

  “You sleep okay?”
  “Or did 2C give you the premium surround-sound treatment?”

  “They were... enthusiastic.”

She laughed once through her nose.
Small smirk, but genuine.

  “You’ll get used to it.
  Or you’ll start hearing it even when it’s not happening.”

She glanced at her phone.
Then at me.

  “Name?”

  “Naira.”

  “Cool. I’m Talia.”
  “See you around, quiet girl.”

And she was gone.

Like a storm that knew how to walk instead of scream.

_________________________________________

07:48 AM – Bottom Stairwell

  “You know, that outfit’s very post-orgasm denial.”

I turned.

Boy.

Hoodie, unzipped.
Banana in hand. Energy drink under his arm.
And that grin.

That kind of grin that assumes you’ll respond — whether you want to or not.
Like neon sign that said bad decision, but fun for a night.

  “I’m Rico. 2C.. You heard me last night.”
  “The backbeat to your insomnia.”

  “Unforgettable.”

  “Appreciate it.
  If you ever want a front-row seat… or a guest role… my door’s never locked.”

He winked.

I smiled.

Not because it was funny.

Because that’s what girls like me were taught to do.

Bona…

I hate boys like him.
I hate boys who think women exist to be joked into beds.

And I hate that my first instinct is to smile like I’m in on it — instead of walking away.

_______________________________________________

07:56 AM – Front steps

I stood outside Blossom Street.
Bag slung over one shoulder.
Wind brushing under the hem of my shirt.

The sky was too blue.
The sidewalk too cracked.
The world too wide.

I stared at the campus gates like they were the mouth of something I didn’t want to name.

But I stepped forward anyway.

Not because I was ready.

Just because I didn’t want to stay where my sheets still smelled like want.

To be continued...

I stepped into the world still soaked in last night’s heat.

I didn’t know their names yet.

But their presence was louder than my shame.

Chapter 4: Where I meet girls who don’t walk — they carve.

→ Keep reading.