The house was silent, too silent to feel familiar.
She turned over in bed for the umpteenth time, eyes open in the dark. New house. A hallway she didn't know. A closed door on the other side of the wall. A stranger.
Thirst came as an excuse.
She got up, crossed the room, and quietly opened the door.
She took just one step into the hallway.
He was there.
Coming out of his room at the exact same moment, dressed in black, loose clothes, headphones on his ears. Half a meter away from her. Too close. Too sudden.
She froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
He wasn't the guy from the photo.
Not even close.
Her eyes widened, her face warmed, her body stiffened in a sharp, instinctive embarrassment. For a moment she had the clear sensation of being out of place, of having the wrong house, the wrong floor, the wrong life.
He didn't react.
No change in his expression. No hesitation.
He only seemed to notice an obstacle in front of him.
He passed by her without looking, heading for the bathroom.
She stayed there, motionless, while the sound of his footsteps faded away.
Only then did the thought hit her, sharp and sudden:
He didn't even look at me.
She went back to her room.
That night, she didn't sleep again.
TWO DAYS EARLIER…
She was sitting on the bed, the suitcase open in front of her. She folded her clothes calmly, almost as if she were trying to slow time down. Each T-shirt placed inside with a measured gesture, as if she wasn't in a hurry to close it.
The door opened softly.
Her mother stepped in, holding an envelope.
"Finally," she said, looking at her. "What is it?"
She raised her eyes and immediately recognized the logo.
"It's from the agency," she replied. "It's about the roommate."
Her mother hinted at a smile that quickly faded. She sat down beside her.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "We would have liked to get you an apartment just for yourself."
She shook her head, sincere.
"You don't have to. Really. Thank you for everything you've done… for letting me study."
For a moment they stayed like that, close, in silence.
Her mother broke it. "Come on. Let's open it."
She checked the time.
"I have to go out. I'm meeting the girls at the bar. I'll open it with them."
The bar was full of voices, clinking glasses, overlapping laughter.
Her friends surrounded her immediately.
"Are you ready for university?"
"We'll miss you, just don't disappear."
She smiled.
One of them leaned forward.
"So… do you already know who the roommate is?"
"I just got this letter from the agency," she said, pulling out the envelope.
"Open it."
"Come on, open it now."
She opened the first sheet. Read aloud only the essentials: instructions, privacy, an email to confirm after reading everything.
Then she moved to the second page. Name. Age. A few lines of description.
Finally, the photo.
She looked at it for a second.
"He doesn't seem like a bad person," she said. "Actually… he looks harmless."
The girls leaned in over the photo.
"He's so fat."
"Oh my God, did you see how he's dressed?"
"He's so ugly."
They burst out laughing.
Then one shrugged.
"Well, you're right. He looks harmless. He won't do anything to you."
Another laughed again.
"Let's just hope he doesn't try anything like all the others."
She laughed too, but shook her head.
"I'm going there to study. Not for anything else."
That evening, at home, while they were having dinner, she still had the photo in her hand.
Her mother noticed it.
"He looks like a good guy," she said simply.
She nodded, without adding anything.
He got home late, after training.
Headphones on, music drowning everything out.
An envelope was on the table.
He picked it up. Opened it.
Read only the first lines: instructions, email confirmation.
Didn't go any further.
He folded the paper and threw it away.
Went into his room, lay down on the bed.
Took his phone, opened the email, confirmed.
Closed his eyes.
The music filled his head again.
Who the roommate would be didn't matter to him.
He arrived a day earlier.
The house was empty, silent, still impersonal. He chose the room farthest away without thinking too much, the one at the end of the hallway. He brought in only a few things: a backpack, a bag, the punching bag, the gloves. Everything else stayed as it was.
The room was bare, almost naked, but it was fine for him. He set his things down, mounted the bag later, once he had finished settling in. He didn't need anything else.
He hadn't slept much.
He woke up early, ate a yogurt standing up, put on his shoes and went out running. When he came back, his body still warm, he shut himself in his room.
She hadn't slept much either. From her bed she had heard every sound: the fridge, the spoon in the glass, the door closing.
She got up, had breakfast, sent her mother a message — everything's fine, the house is okay — then started reviewing notes, more to keep her mind busy than to actually study.
Later, she was in her room, on a video call with her friends.
"So?"
She told them about the first encounter in a few words. No details, just the essentials. Said he wasn't like the photo.
The girls looked at each other, curious.
"Different how?"
She shrugged. "Different."
Then the noise came.
A dull thud. Another. Rhythmic. Louder and louder.
The girls fell silent.
"What is that?"
She stiffened. "I don't know."
The noise continued, from the other side of the wall.
She stood up, walked out with the phone still in her hand. Knocked. Nothing. Knocked again.
"What's happening?" the girls asked, voices tense.
She didn't answer. Went back, called the police. When she hung up, the video call was still on.
The doorbell rang shortly after.
He had just stopped. Took off his headphones, still breathing hard. He opened the door without hurry.
He was wearing a white tank top, the fabric dark with sweat. Arms tense, chest rising and falling slowly. The punching bag behind him was still swaying.
She froze.
The phone, without her realizing it, was pointed at him.
From the screen came sudden silence. Then a low voice:
"Wait… is that him?"
Another: "Are you serious?"
She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, too late.
He looked first at the officers, then at her. No expression. No questions.
"I was training."
The officers saw the bag and understood immediately. They apologized and left.
She tried to say something, an attempt at an apology, but he was already back inside. The door closed.
From the phone came a half-suppressed scream.
She turned it off.
She stood there for a few seconds.
Then went back to her room, with a new feeling on her skin, hard to define.
Scene – The kitchen, evening
The kitchen light was on.
He was there, standing by the counter, plate already in his hands. Not in a hurry, but not wanting to stay either.
She entered hesitantly.
Stopped at the doorway for a moment, then took a step forward.
"Hey…"
He raised his eyes.
Didn't look away. He really looked at her. A fixed, cold stare, as if he were evaluating something that didn't concern him.
"I wanted to apologize for earlier," she said. "I didn't—"
"No need."
The words fell cleanly, without anger. Just closure.
She pressed her lips together for a second, then crossed her arms.
"You know it's rude, right? Living with someone and not even introducing yourself."
He tilted his head slightly, as if observing her better.
"You already know who I am."
"What?"
"The agency."
He picked up the plate. "You got everything."
She stared at him. "So did you, then."
"Yes."
"And?"
"I threw it away."
A moment of silence.
"Why?" she asked, incredulous.
He looked at her again. Same empty stare.
"Because I don't care."
"Don't care about… what?"
"Who I live with."
She laughed softly, without joy.
"Well, congratulations. It's not often you feel like a detail."
"You're not."
He paused. "You're just irrelevant."
Her eyes widened. "You know you're an asshole, right?"
No reaction.
He picked up his glass of water, took a sip.
"If you act like this," she said, harder now, "it's normal you end up alone."
A shadow crossed his face. Not pain. Choice.
"I know."
He set the glass down.
Looked at her one last time, as if he had already finished reading her.
"And that's exactly what I want."
He passed by her without touching her.
The door to his room closed shortly after.
She stayed there in the kitchen, with the noise of silence weighing on her.
FIRST DAY.
He woke up early.
Yogurt eaten standing up, shoes laced without hurry, the air still cold on his skin as he went out running. Always the same. Always like this.
When the door closed, she woke up.
That morning she didn't think about him.
She only thought about university.
She got up with a kind of electricity inside, washed, had breakfast, got ready carefully. That's why she was there. To study. To really begin. She left the house with a smile that didn't need anyone.
He was coming back in.
Quick shower, black clothes, headphones. He left without looking back.
At the university she stopped in front of the class board, looking for her name.
She found it immediately.
And right underneath, another one.
She sighed softly.
"Just my luck, him in my class too," she muttered, more to herself than anything else.
At that moment she saw him arrive. On time. Silent.
All black, as always. Headphones around his neck, eyes straight ahead.
He didn't look at her. Not once.
They sat in the same course. She with other girls, him a few rows behind.
They didn't exchange a single glance.
During the lecture he sat perfectly still, eyes focused, attentive. He didn't take notes like the others, but seemed to absorb everything. When the professor asked an open question, he answered. One sentence. Cold. Direct. Honest.
There was a moment of silence.
The professor stared at him, stiff.
"You may leave, if you think you already know everything."
He stood up without arguing. Gathered his things and left the room.
She followed him with her eyes for just a second.
In the hallway, shortly after, she noticed a quick scene: a guy stopped by others, low laughter, shoves disguised as jokes. He passed by them. Looked. Understood. Said nothing. Walked on.
He ate alone. As if it were normal.
She didn't.
She talked, laughed, listened. She was starting to get to know people.
She noticed him only in passing, sitting far away, bent over his tray.
Nothing else.
SECOND DAY.
The second day slipped by more normally.
Classes, hallways, voices that were starting to feel familiar.
At lunch he sat again at the same table.
Shortly after, someone stopped in front of him.
"Mind if I sit?"
He barely raised his eyes. One second. No answer. Continued eating.
It was a yes.
The guy sat down. They didn't talk.
But he didn't leave.
She saw them from afar. Noticed it.
Then went back to her friends.
AFTERNOON.
They went out together, laughing, talking about nothing.
They decided to meet again in the evening, maybe for coffee.
While they were walking, she saw him on the other side of the street.
Alone. Slow steps. Eyes fixed ahead. As if the world were distant noise.
She noticed something else too.
The looks.
Girls turning their heads. Half-voiced comments. Curiosity.
A friend nudged her.
"Did you see that guy? He's gorgeous."
She followed the gaze, even though she already knew who it was.
"Yeah…" she replied softly.
"Too bad he looks unapproachable," the friend continued.
"One of those who don't even leave you space to try."
She stayed silent for a moment.
Then said only,
"Really?"
He kept walking.
Straight ahead. Without turning back.
At home later, she found him on the couch. Watching an anime. Back straight. Total focus.
He noticed her.
Said nothing.
The next morning, in the kitchen.
"If you want to be alone," she asked, "why live with someone else?"
He took a sip of water.
"It's just for money. Alone or with someone else, it's the same."
He left.
She stayed there, coffee in her hands.
By now it tasted bitter.
She understood one thing only:
he wasn't rejecting her.
To him, she simply didn't make a difference.
And that, inexplicably, hurt more than rejection.
And without meaning to, she was already starting to wonder why.