Unpacking

The door clicked shut behind Luciana and Jisoo, and the room felt different immediately.

Not empty.

Just quieter.

Coretta stood in the center of the room for a second, hands still wrapped around the handle of her suitcase, as if waiting for instructions that weren’t coming. Asmaa moved first.

"So," Asmaa said gently, glancing around. "Do you care which closet side you take?"

Coretta blinked. "Uh—no. I mean. I don’t need much space."

Asmaa smiled faintly. "That’s what everyone says."

They both laughed, the sound light and uncertain.

Coretta rolled her suitcase toward the bed near the wall. Asmaa claimed the one closer to the window but hesitated before fully settling into it.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "You said you liked morning light."

"I do," Coretta admitted. "But I also wake up early. I don’t want to blind you at six a.m."

"That’s… considerate."

"I try."

They began unpacking.

The rhythm of it steadied the air.

Coretta hung her blazer first, smoothing the shoulders before placing it in the closet. Shoes aligned under the bed. Laptop centered on the desk. Charger coiled neatly. She stacked her books by height without thinking about it.

Across the room, Asmaa folded everything carefully, smoothing fabric with her palms before placing it in drawers. Her motions were unhurried, almost meditative.

"I liked them," Asmaa said after a minute.

"Luciana and Jisoo?"

"Yeah. They’re… confident." A small pause. "But not in a loud way."

Coretta nodded. "They didn’t feel like they were performing."

"Exactly."

Asmaa placed a framed photo of her family on her desk—parents seated close together, siblings clustered around them.

Coretta noticed the way her hand lingered on the frame.

"You close with them?" she asked.

Asmaa smiled, softer now. "Very."

"That’s good."

"It is," Asmaa said. Then, after a beat: "It’s also… heavy sometimes."

Coretta paused mid-movement.

"How so?"

Asmaa sat down on her bed, tucking one leg beneath her. "They’re proud of me being here. But they already talk about what kind of man I’ll meet."

Coretta raised an eyebrow. "Day one and we’re already planning weddings?"

Asmaa laughed quietly. "Not weddings. Just… expectations. Respectable. Stable. From a good family."

"Traditional," Coretta guessed.

"Very."

Coretta leaned against her desk. "And what do you want?"

Asmaa looked toward the window, where late-afternoon light had begun to soften into gold.

"I want to choose," she said. "Not just agree."

Her fingers brushed the edge of her hijab unconsciously.

"Sometimes," she continued carefully, "men see this and decide who I am before I speak. Either I’m innocent and submissive. Or I’m some kind of moral authority."

Coretta’s mouth tightened slightly.

"And men from my own community," Asmaa added, "they talk about dominance. About being leaders. About how a wife should behave."

She shook her head gently.

"But they’ve never led anything. They’ve just always been obeyed."

The words were calm, almost clinical.

Coretta considered that.

"It’s not that different," she said slowly. "I’ve met men who talk about strength all the time. About systems. About power."

She shrugged lightly.

"But sometimes it feels like they’re still proving something to themselves."

Asmaa tilted her head. "You think that’s why they’re loud?"

"Maybe." Coretta hesitated. "Or maybe I’m just tired."

There was a brief silence.

Then Asmaa smiled faintly. "What did you think about Robert?"

Coretta blinked. "Robert?"

"Jisoo’s boyfriend."

Coretta let out a soft breath of amusement. "Honestly?"

"Honestly."

Coretta crossed her arms, half-smiling. "I pictured some clean-cut finance kid carrying her bag around."

Asmaa laughed. "Why?"

"I don’t know." Coretta shook her head. "There’s this stereotype. The overfunded white guy who’s good at spreadsheets but not much else."

"Soft?"

"Maybe." Coretta’s tone wasn’t cruel—just reflective. "Like he’s never really been tested."

Asmaa studied her. "You don’t actually know that though."

Coretta nodded. "I know."

She paused.

"That’s the thing. We all inherit assumptions."

"From where?"

"From everywhere." Coretta gave a small, tired smile. "From watching. From listening. From being told who’s strong and who isn’t."

Asmaa considered that quietly.

"Jisoo didn’t look like she was carrying him," she said finally.

Coretta almost smiled.

"No," she admitted. "She didn’t."

They let that topic drift away naturally.

Asmaa adjusted a stack of notebooks on her desk.

"I don’t want to be controlled," she said after a moment.

Coretta looked up.

Asmaa continued, voice steady. "But I also don’t want to carry everything alone."

The words hung in the air.

Coretta felt something in her chest tighten—not painfully. Just recognition.

"I don’t want to fight my partner," she said quietly. "I don’t want every conversation to feel like a debate or a correction."

Asmaa nodded.

"Some men perform strength," Coretta added. "They don’t actually hold it."

"And some men demand respect," Asmaa said, "without being worthy of it."

Their eyes met.

Neither of them wanted domination.

Neither of them wanted chaos.

They wanted steadiness.

Consistency.

Someone who didn’t need to shout to feel large.

Outside, the sky had deepened into violet. Campus lights flickered on one by one.

Coretta’s stomach growled loudly.

They stared at each other for half a second—then both burst into laughter.

"Okay," Asmaa said, standing. "That’s a sign from God."

"Or biology," Coretta replied.

"Same difference tonight."

"Please tell me there’s food somewhere nearby."

"There’s a late café near the quad."

Coretta reached automatically for her blazer—then paused.

She looked at it for a moment.

Then left it hanging.

"Let’s go," she said.

Asmaa grabbed her phone and checked her reflection briefly in the mirror, smoothing her hijab.

They stepped into the hallway side by side.

The corridor felt different at night—quieter, more intimate. Doors half-closed. Low music somewhere in the distance.

Coretta glanced left, then right. "Do you actually know where this café is?"

Asmaa hesitated. "I… saw it on a campus map. I think." She smiled sheepishly. "We technically know nothing yet."

Coretta laughed softly. "We could wander around and pretend we’re confident."

"Or," Asmaa said carefully, "we could ask someone."

They both looked down the hallway instinctively.

"Sarah?" Coretta suggested, half-teasing.

Asmaa considered it. "She did sound… authoritative."

Coretta smirked. "According to Luciana, she’s ‘technically in charge.’"

"That phrasing felt loaded," Asmaa said, amused.

Coretta nodded. "Very."

A small pause.

"Do we knock?" Asmaa asked.

Coretta hesitated just long enough to feel the unfamiliarity of needing help in a brand-new place.

"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe we try to figure it out ourselves first."

Asmaa smiled. "Five-minute rule? If we’re lost, we ask Sarah."

"Deal."

Two new students.

Two different histories.

One quiet understanding forming between them as they walked toward the darkening campus—still slightly unsure, still slightly hungry, and maybe a little curious about the people who were technically in charge of them now.