Uneventful, but you get home and unpack!

After the mall, Jamal swung the car into the shops parking lot one that you got back home. The stop itself was nothing special, but it reminded you of home, and that felt grounding.

After hours of being pulled this way and that, meeting new faces, trying on new clothes, talking about things you’d never even spent a second thinking about, the simple act of grabbing groceries in a place that looked familiar gave you a short, welcome feeling of normalcy.

You pushed the cart while Jamal filled it with things the two of you would actually eat in the dorm: pasta, bread, fruit, chicken, a couple of frozen pizzas. The short trip was mundane, ordinary, almost comforting after a day in the giant mall.

The drive back was quick. By the time Jamal parked, the sun had dipped low and the dorm building glowed soft orange in its last light. You carried the bags up together, arms heavy but your head lighter than it had been all day.

Inside, the room looked the same as when you’d left it, your bed neatly made, pictures of your family and friends on the wall, while Jamal’s side was, as usual, a little messier. As you stepped in you were hit by the faint trace of his cologne still hanging in the air. Jamal tossed the grocery bags onto the counter by the tiny kitchenette and stretched his shoulders with a grunt. “Alright, let’s put this stuff away before it all goes bad.”

He started unpacking, then added, laughing, “One time Samuel bought groceries and straight-up forgot them on the counter for like a week when I went home. The whole dorm smelled like shit when I got back. Had to use sooo much room spray, I think my nose is still sensitive to it.”

He told the story like it had happened yesterday. Hearing it made you feel weirdly closer to him; these little domestic stories felt like friendship in the making, even though you’d only met yesterday.

You laughed with him and began setting the shopping bags of clothes by your bed. While Jamal slid milk into the fridge, lined cans in the cabinet and tossed fruit into the wire basket, you pulled the first clothing bag toward you and unzipped it.

For a moment you hesitated, fingertips brushing the fabric inside. Back at the mall you’d been scared to imagine yourself in these clothes, too tight, too bold, too much. But Jamal’s words from the car kept looping in your head: You don’t see yourself, bro. You got a body people wish they had.

You took out the first folded shirt and laid it across the bed. The fabric was soft and light, the cut slim enough that you knew it would show your shape, not swallow you up. You smoothed it with your hand and tried to picture yourself wearing it outside. Instead of the dread you’d felt before, a small, cautious flicker of curiosity lit in your chest.

Piece by piece you unpacked: shirts, shorts, pants, the sportswear Jamal insisted would “make your legs pop.” You stacked them neatly in the dresser drawers you’d been given, pausing every so often to glance at the mirror across the room. Each time you tried, really tried, to imagine how you might look in them out in the world, not just here, not only in front of Jamal, but outside where people might actually notice.

It wasn’t easy. The nerves still pressed against you, whispering it was too much, that people would laugh, that you didn’t belong in clothes like these and should hide your butt before anyone made fun of you. But Jamal’s voice cut through the whispers, steady and certain: That confidence? That’s power. And you deserve it.

You left the underwear for last. The small packs sat tucked in the corner, unopened. You didn’t need them yet, and honestly you weren’t ready to look at all of them. The thought of opening those packs felt too intimate, too final. Better to leave them for another day, when you felt braver.

By the time you slid the last shirt into the drawer, Jamal was done with the groceries. He leaned against the counter, watching you with that easy grin. “Everything put away?”

You nodded and closed the drawer gently. “Yeah. It feels… good, actually. Seeing it all laid out. Like it’s really mine now.”

“That’s ‘cause it is yours,” Jamal said simply. “All that? That’s you, Emile. The new you. You just gotta let yourself step into it.”

You swallowed. The warmth from earlier returned faintly to your chest. You weren’t sure whether it was his words, the tone, or the way he looked at you, like he saw something you didn’t yet, but you couldn’t shake the small tingle in your stomach.

“Thanks,” you murmured, almost shy. “For… all of this. I don’t think I would’ve picked any of it on my own, or felt more comfortable in my own skin without your encouragement.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Jamal said, his grin widening. “To push you a little. Get you outta your shell. Trust me, you’re gonna thank me later when you see how good you look in ‘em.”

You laughed softly and rubbed the back of your neck. “Maybe.”

But as you glanced at the clothes folded neatly in your dresser, “maybe” didn’t feel like a dodge. It felt like a possibility. It didn’t mean everything had to change tomorrow, or next week, but maybe you could improve and finally feel safe in your own skin, something you’d never had a real chance to do back home. Maybe this place, weird and overwhelming as it was, could be where you tried. Maybe Jamal was right, maybe you could really be yourself here.