~Karla's Pov~
The apartment smells like microwave popcorn and something floral when I push open the door. I'm still balancing my bag, a paper folder from work, and the sticky remains of what used to be my dignity.
I barely step inside before I hear it.
A soft giggle. Low murmuring.
I glance toward the living room and immediately wish I hadn't.
Tessa is on the couch, curled up in someone's lap, tangled in a pair of long arms and even longer legs. She's mid-kiss, the guy's hand in her hair, his shirt half unbuttoned like this is some Netflix special and I just walked into the middle of the season finale.
Tessa peeks over her shoulder, cheeks flushed. Her eyes go wide when she sees me frozen in the doorway.
"Oh my god—uh—hi!" she squeaks, scrambling to sit up straighter, her hand waving wildly as if she's trying to shoo me toward the hallway. "You're home! Okay! Cool! Yep! Hallway is, still that way!"
I stare for a second, eyebrows raised, then do as instructed.
No judgment. Just... surprise. And maybe slight secondhand embarrassment.
"I'll be in my room," I say, already heading down the narrow hall.
"Sorry!" she calls after me, her voice muffled by what I assume is her face pressed into a cushion. "I didn't think you'd be back this early!"
I don't answer. Just push open my bedroom door and drop my bag with a thud. The lights are still dim from this morning. My suitcase sits half-unpacked near the corner, like a reminder that I haven't quite landed yet.
I sit on the edge of my bed, exhale loudly, and fall back.
The ceiling stares down at me like it's waiting for an explanation.
What a day.
Late on day one. Humiliated by the CEO. Practically invisible in a room full of overachievers. And now? Caught in the crossfire of my roommate's make-out marathon.
I close my eyes.
Just for a second.
Just to breathe.
Then—
Ping.
My phone lights up on the nightstand. I groan and reach for it, still half-sprawled across the bed.
Subject: Upcoming Term Schedule—Hudson Business & Marketing School
I blink, then sit up, suddenly wide awake.
Classes. Already?
I open the email, scanning quickly.
Dear Karla Smith,
This is a reminder that your semester officially begins in one week. Please check the student portal to confirm your time schedule and upcoming tuition deadlines.
Great.
I toss the phone onto the blanket beside me and run a hand through my hair.
"One week," I mutter. "Just enough time to completely panic."
Interning full-time at Vale & Co. is already draining. Add university on top of it—and I haven't even figured out when I'm going to sleep, eat, or breathe.
How do people do this?
I grab a notebook from the side drawer and scribble across the top of a fresh page: "SCHEDULE = SURVIVAL."
Underneath, I list out the days of the week. Try to picture where everything fits. But it's like playing Tetris in my brain—and every block is a stress bomb.
Still, I have to figure it out.
Because quitting isn't an option.
And failure? That's not a word I've ever let stick.
Not even now.
Not even here.
I'm hunched over my desk, squinting at my laptop and a very chaotic notebook page that now looks more like a math problem than a schedule.
Monday through Friday: internship.
Evenings: classes—starting next week.
Weekends: maybe sleep. Maybe cry. Maybe both.
It's 10:24 PM, and I'm still dragging colored highlighters across fake optimism when I hear it—
Knock knock.
Soft. Hesitant.
Then her voice, muffled through the door.
"Karla? You alive in there?"
I glance at the time again, rub my eyes, and shuffle over to open the door.
Tessa stands there holding a pizza box and two cans of soda, her messy pink hair pulled into a loose bun and a hopeful smile on her face.
"Peace offering?" she says, lifting the box a little. "I felt guilty for having my tongue halfway down some guy's throat when you walked in."
I stare at the pizza for a moment. Then sigh and step aside.
"Come in before I regret being nice."
She grins and breezes in like a tornado in socks, settling cross-legged on the edge of my bed while I drag my chair around.
We open the box between us, steam curling up into the air. Cheese, garlic, and something suspiciously spicy.
My stomach rumbles like a traitor. I hadn't even noticed how hungry I was.
"See? Your body knows," Tessa says, taking a giant bite and groaning dramatically. "God, food is therapy."
I smile faintly, chewing slowly. We eat in silence for a bit, the hum of city traffic filtering in through the window.
"Long day?" she asks eventually, glancing at me sideways.
I nod. "Something like that."
"Vale & Co. sounds intense. Are they all as scary as the rumors?"
"Worse." I take another bite. "The CEO basically verbally dropkicked me in front of everyone for being late."
"Ouch." She winces. "Hot, though?"
I roll my eyes. "Unfortunately."
She snorts into her slice.
A few more quiet minutes pass. Then she sets her pizza down, grabs a loose lock of her pink hair and twirls it thoughtfully between her fingers.
"Do you think I should dye it black?"
I blink. "What?"
"My hair. I've been thinking about it. You know—go full mysterious dark-haired beauty vibe. Less bubblegum disaster, more seductive noir."
I stare at her for a moment, then shrug. "I think you could pull it off."
She grins. "You think?"
"Yeah. You'd make black hair look cool. You've got the eyes for it."
"Compliment noted," she says dramatically, pressing her hand to her chest like I just gave her a Grammy. "I'll have to schedule a full identity crisis makeover."
We finish the last of the slices, and she leans back against the wall with a satisfied sigh.
I let out a quieter one.
She looks at me again, a little more gently this time.
"You doing okay, really?"
I nod, but it's not as convincing as I want it to be. "I will be. Just… everything's a lot right now."
"Yeah," she says softly. "It is."
We sit like that for a while. The pizza box between us. The silence is less awkward this time. Softer. Safe.
Eventually she pushes up from the bed. "Alright, I'll let you get back to being the responsible one in this apartment."
"Goodnight," I say, watching her go.
She turns in the doorway, her voice playful again. "If you hear hair dye splashing in the sink at 2 a.m., mind your business."
The door clicks shut.
I sit in the silence for a beat, then glance back at my laptop.
The schedule can wait a few more minutes.
I stretch out on my bed and close my eyes, the leftover scent of garlic and hair dye dreams lingering in the air.
And for the first time today… I don't feel completely alone.