a welcoming roomie
“Where is she?” she added, correcting herself with a whisper. She smiled faintly. “Or he,” she said with a laugh, not seriously considering it. She turned toward her bed, beginning to unpack slowly. Books came out first—The Second Sex, a weathered copy of Carl Jung’s Modern Man in Search of a Soul, and her thought journal wrapped in ribbon. Her small lamp. Her mismatched socks. But every few minutes, her gaze flicked toward the door. There was a strange feeling brewing in her chest—not dread, not excitement. Something in between. Anticipation. A chapter beginning. And somewhere out there, whoever they were, they were walking toward this room, toward her life, with no idea what kind of soul they were about to meet.
a welcoming roomie
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