New neighbors

"Oh good," one of them said, leaning casually against the frame. "New neighbors."

The first one stepped inside without hesitation. Luciana.

She was impossible to ignore. Caramel skin luminous under the hallway light, lips visibly plumped and glossed to perfection, lashes thick and deliberate, brows sculpted with precision. Her figure was exaggerated in a way that felt intentional rather than accidental—hips dramatically curved, waist cinched tight, movements fluid and practiced. The burgundy crop top framed her chest boldly; the light‑wash jeans molded to her shape like they had been chosen to emphasize every line. Gold hoops caught the light when she tilted her head, sleek high ponytail swinging with controlled confidence. She looked curated—like someone who understood attention as a tool and wore it comfortably.

Coretta registered it instantly. The polish. The enhancement. The deliberate display. A flash of instinctive judgment rose—too loud, too obvious, too constructed. She suppressed it just as quickly. Control was her armor; analysis came before reaction. Luciana wasn’t careless. Nothing about her felt accidental.

Across the room, Asmaa noticed different details. The confidence. The way Luciana entered without asking for permission. For a brief second, she wondered what it would feel like to move through a space without worrying whether she was being misread. Then, almost reflexively, she adjusted the edge of her hijab—small, grounding, familiar. Not comparison. Just awareness. Different languages of visibility, she thought quietly.

Behind her came Jisoo—quieter energy, but no less striking. Soft grey fitted tank, tailored trousers sitting low and effortless on her hips, silver chain catching the light at her collarbone. Calm eyes. Controlled movements. The kind of girl who didn’t need to raise her voice to own a room.

"I’m Luciana."

"Jisoo," she added with a small nod.

Asmaa introduced herself again, a little more softly this time.

"Coretta Williams," she said when it was her turn, offering a small, composed smile. "But you can call me Cora."

Luciana gave Coretta a once‑over—not judgmental, just assessing. "Business girl?"

Coretta blinked. "That obvious?"

"Structured blazer on move‑in day? Yeah."

They laughed.

"Business and Entrepreneurship," Coretta confirmed.

"Nice," Jisoo said. "Tomorrow’s the welcome speech in the main auditorium. Then department orientation. Then they throw you into your first lectures like you’re supposed to already know what’s happening."

"Standard," Luciana added. "Smile. Nod. Pretend you read the syllabus."

Asmaa relaxed at that.

"What about you?" Coretta asked.

"International trade," Luciana said. "Jisoo’s in finance. Quant track."

"Glutton for punishment," Jisoo said dryly.

"She likes punishment," Luciana teased automatically.

Jisoo shot her a look, but there was no real heat behind it.

Asmaa’s brows lifted slightly. "You two have known each other long?"

"Long enough," Luciana said lightly.

As she brushed her ponytail back, her bracelet shifted, revealing a small tattoo on her wrist—a fine‑lined heart with a single letter inside.

A Q.

Coretta noticed it.

Jisoo had the same symbol just below her collarbone, barely visible where her tank dipped. Intentional. Not loud.

Asmaa glanced between them. "I was kind of hoping this place would be… less ideological," she admitted carefully. "Just studying. Not constant debates."

Coretta nodded immediately. "Same. I’m tired of everything being a position."

Luciana and Jisoo shared a look—half amused, half knowing.

"You’ll be fine," Luciana said. "This campus isn’t obsessed with online culture wars. No red‑pill, blue‑pill podcast bros screaming in the courtyard."

"Mostly just overachievers with caffeine addictions," Jisoo added.

Asmaa smiled, but there was still tension in her shoulders.

"Back home," she said quietly, "even how you dress becomes commentary. If you date, it’s commentary. If you don’t, it’s commentary."

Luciana’s tone softened. "You don’t have to defend yourself here."

Asmaa’s hand instinctively touched the edge of her hijab. A small, protective gesture.

"I’m not defending," she said quickly. "I just—"

"You don’t owe us an explanation," Jisoo interrupted gently. "About clothes. About men. About anything."

That seemed to land.

Then Luciana’s grin returned. "Speaking of people. Important information: the new guys and girls here are… impressive."

Asmaa flushed instantly. "We’ve been here five minutes."

"We do fast analysis," Luciana said.

"We," Jisoo repeated, but she was smiling now.

"Especially her," Luciana added, jerking her thumb toward Jisoo.

"Don’t," Jisoo warned.

"What? It’s not a secret."

Asmaa looked between them, curiosity fighting embarrassment. "You’re dating someone?"

Jisoo hesitated only a second, her eyes flicking briefly toward Luciana—as if checking something unspoken—before answering. "Yeah."

"Robert," Luciana supplied. "Finance program."

"He’s very… precise," Jisoo said.

"Very clear," Luciana added. "Very certain."

Something in the way they said it felt layered.

Asmaa’s cheeks deepened in color. "And he’s nice?"

Luciana laughed. "Define nice."

Jisoo didn’t laugh. "He’s strict," she said simply.

The word sat there.

Coretta, without meaning to, pictured a polished white finance kid orbiting Jisoo like an accessory—carrying her tote, opening doors, eager to impress. Clean‑cut. Well‑funded. The kind of guy who looked obedient rather than strict.

Luciana caught the flicker in her expression and smirked. "Don’t build him in your head yet."

Jisoo just looked amused.

"You’ll meet him eventually," she said. "He’s… not what people assume."

There was something unspoken there—an undercurrent that Asmaa and Coretta couldn’t quite decode.

Luciana stretched, easy and relaxed. "Anyway. Tomorrow’s welcome speech at nine. Orientation after. First lectures start Monday. Survive the week and you’re officially one of us."

"If you need anything," Jisoo added, "we’re next door."

"And if something requires authority," Luciana said, her mouth curving slightly, "Sarah’s the floor supervisor. Sexy and. Scary." She paused just a fraction too long. "She’s technically in charge of us." The way she said it carried a faint, almost wicked undertone—like she enjoyed the phrasing more than necessary. "You’ll know her when you see her. Goth vibe. All black everything. And a body that makes the rules look optional." A brief, admiring glint crossed her eyes before she added casually, "She runs this floor very… efficiently."

There was a faint tone shift when she said that—almost playful, almost respectful.

Asmaa nodded quickly.

"Okay. Good to know."

Luciana gave them one last assessing look, then grinned. "You’ll like it here."

Then the two of them slipped back into the hallway, their laughter fading down the corridor.