My Roommate Stole Him and Tried to Ruin Me

I had a system.

Everything I owned was packed in four labeled boxes and two rolling suitcases, organized by category, cross-referenced with a handwritten list in my notebook. I had researched the elevator wait times for NYU move-in day and arrived forty minutes before the rush. I had a plan for where every item would go.

What I did not have a plan for was Laylah Tucker.

She was already there when I pushed open the door to suite 412. Her side of the room looked like a magazine spread — fairy lights strung with mathematical precision, a white duvet without a single wrinkle, a mini-fridge humming quietly in the corner with a small succulent on top. She turned when I walked in, and her smile was the kind that reached her eyes on command.

"You must be Cataleya." She said my name like she'd been practicing it. "I'm Laylah. I got here early — hope that's okay. I saved you the side with the better window light."

I looked at the window. Then at her. "Thanks."

"I have extra hangers if you need them. And you're totally welcome to use the fridge." She tilted her head, warm and open. "What's your major?"

I told her. She asked about my family with bright, interested eyes — not the polite version of asking, but the version that leans in slightly, that makes you feel like the most interesting person in the room. I answered in short sentences and started unpacking my first box.

Oaklynn Cooper arrived twenty minutes later with a single duffel bag and the energy of someone who had already assessed the situation from the hallway. She set her bag down, looked at Laylah's side of the room, looked at Laylah, and said, "Nice setup."

Two words. Completely neutral. But when she caught my eye over Laylah's shoulder, something passed between us — quick and wordless, the kind of look that means I see it too, and we'll talk later.

Mila Oliver came in behind her, carrying a tote bag full of snacks and a small speaker. She introduced herself to everyone with genuine warmth, the kind that didn't need to perform anything. Within ten minutes she had offered Oaklynn a granola bar and asked Laylah a question about her hometown that made Laylah's smile go slightly stiff before recovering.

I filed that away.

Cayden showed up at noon.

He knocked twice and came in already talking, easy and familiar, the way he always moved through rooms — like the space had been waiting for him. He kissed my cheek and grabbed the heaviest box without being asked, and I felt the knot in my chest loosen a little. This was the part I knew. This was solid ground.

"Where do you want this?"

"Closet shelf, top row."

He was halfway across the room when Laylah turned from her desk. "Oh — you must be Cayden." Her voice was light, almost surprised, like she hadn't already heard his name