The clock read 6:00 when the lock turned without warning.

It wasn't a mistake, a confused neighbor, or a casual accident. It was a deliberate entry — decisive, and clearly unwelcome.

Maribel stood up at once, leaving her book open.

The door swung open with a shove, and the first thing that entered was a burst of laughter.

—“Whoa! Smells like roasted coffee in here!” said a figure wearing slightly worn tights, a ripped denim jacket, and a canvas bag so overstuffed it looked ready to burst. “This is the place! Just like Mark said!”

Maribel didn’t reply. She stood in the middle of the apartment, her gaze fixed, lips shut.

—“You’re Maribel, right? Yeah? I’m Misty. Or at least, that’s what people call me. Mark said I could stay for a few days. Well, weeks. Or however long. He said you were chill and lived alone. And look at that — not a lie.”

She dropped her bag by the couch like it already belonged to her. Her laugh was loud, airy, careless. She walked toward the kitchen without asking, without stopping to read the mood.

—“You’ve got coffee, right? Or tea — whatever! Today’s been endless. Did you know the train was stalled for like forty minutes? I thought I’d die. But here I am. Your new personal roommate.”

Maribel finally reacted.

—“Mark told you you could live here?”

—“Yeah. I mean — not ‘live’ like a lease or anything. He said something like ‘crash there for a while, Maribel won’t mind.’ Something like that.”

—“Well, I do mind,” she said, her tone unchanging.

Misty paused with the kettle in her hand.

—“Really?”

—“I’ve been here almost two years. Alone. This isn’t a shelter.”

—“Oh, but see,” Misty said, bold and confident, “that just makes it better. One quiet girl with a boring routine, and then one gorgeous girl —me— barges in to spice things up. Perfect combo, don’t you think?”

—“I’m not interested,” said Maribel, returning to her chair. “In roommates either.”

There was a brief silence. Misty set down the kettle and shrugged.

—“I guess I can sleep on the couch tonight. We’ll see tomorrow. Anyway, Mark said you were reasonable.”

—“Mark says a lot of things.”

—“Yeah. Like ‘Maribel needs a roommate or a friend.’”

Maribel looked at her — not coldly, just tired.

—“And you think you’re that roommate?”

—“I’m totally trustworthy, sis.”

She laughed at herself. Unrolled an old blanket from her bag, took off her shoes without ceremony, and flopped onto the couch with a victorious sigh.

Maribel said nothing. Not because she agreed, but because arguing with someone like Misty that night would only drain more of herself.

And still, as she closed her bedroom door, she thought about how fast the air had changed. How the sound of another breath — strange, alive, misplaced — was already pressing against the walls of her life.

She wasn’t welcome. But she was already here. Maribel didn’t want to argue; she saw her as odd. She’d call Mark tomorrow to sort this out.