I finally reached the room and pushed the door open. And then I froze. My heart stopped.
Standing there, arranging her things like she belonged, was someone I had prayed never to see again.
Amara. My cousin.
The same person who had stood in front of everyone three years ago and accused my father of killing my mother. The same person who had turned my family into a story people whispered about. The same person who had destroyed everything.
And now… she was my roommate.
She looked just as shocked as I felt. I guessed she didn't expect me to come out of the prison she had made me live in for the last five years of my life.
My hands trembled, my mouth opened, but no words came out. I wanted to scream, but all I could do was watch her, frozen. She started to speak, then stopped herself, holding something back.
And then my mind drifted. I remembered how close we had been. I had told her everything, including the deepest secrets I kept in my diary. She knew me inside out. We wore the same clothes, styled our hair the same way—people even thought we were twins. But she was two years older than me.
We had even been in the same class back in college, thanks to my high IQ.
And then I remembered the horrifying day my mother died—and how Amara openly accused my father of it. Because of her accusation, my father had been separated from me for months, and I had been sent to a relative's house where I was maltreated and called the "murderer's daughter."
That was when my depression started. I had to see a psychiatrist for two years. My father was eventually released after no proof was found. Imagine losing your wife and being accused of killing her by the same girl you had raised and loved.
Yes, Amara had been raised by my parents after her own parents died in a tragic car accident. Maybe that's why she had been jealous of me, wishing I had suffered the same fate as hers.
I was brought back to reality when a tall girl with brown hair entered the room. She saw the anger etched on my face—the kind that looked like I could kill someone at any moment. She noticed who it was directed at and broke the silence.
"You… you entered the wrong room," she said. "I guess you mixed up the numbers—16 instead of 19."
I didn't wait for more. I turned and walked back to my room, knowing if I stayed any longer, something inside me might snap.
Walking back, I couldn't hold back my tears. They fell freely, each drop a reminder of memories I had tried to bury. Seeing Amara here made everything worse. My body shook, my legs barely carried me, but I managed to reach my room.
I collapsed onto the nearest bed and cried until I fell asleep. Luckily, my roommate wasn't there.
All I could think about was going home.