Chapter 3: The Proposal—Sharing Space, Sharing Hearts

I kept my voice soft, hoping she’d let me help.

"None of your business."

She shot me a look, but there was no real anger behind it. I managed a small smile.

I found a bottle of muscle rub in my drawer and handed it to her. "Here—do it yourself, so you won’t think I’m being a creep."

I set the bottle in her hand, careful not to touch her. She glanced at it, then at me, lips twitching.

"Oh no... I think I twisted my back. I can’t bend down," she admitted, wincing. "Um... Dylan, can you help me put the medicine on?"

She looked up, eyes wide and a little embarrassed. I hesitated, then nodded.

"It might sting at first. Hang in there," I said, trying to sound reassuring.

I knelt beside her, right next to her long, smooth legs, heart pounding.

I squeezed a little muscle rub into my palm, warmed it up, and gently worked it onto her bruised skin.

The menthol scent filled the air, sharp and clean. I tried to be as gentle as possible, but Rachel still winced.

Rachel closed her eyes, her face caught between pain, tension, and shyness.

Her breath hitched, and I realized my own heart was racing just as fast.

As I massaged the bruise, I felt her leg tremble slightly—and my own hands weren’t exactly steady either.

The moment seemed to stretch forever, charged with something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

It only took a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

When I finished, I wiped my hands and looked away, giving her some space. She stood slowly, testing her leg.

After she left my room, I just sat there, feeling like I’d stepped out of my own life and into someone else’s dream.

I stared at the ceiling, replaying every awkward, intimate second. I knew nothing would ever be quite the same between us.

The next morning, I was in the kitchen, boiling water for coffee, when one of the new girls from the living room partition shuffled over.

The kitchen was packed—steam rising from mugs and bowls, people jostling for counter space. Tara, with her hair in a messy ponytail and a glint in her eye, sidled up to me.

She looked like she wanted to say something but kept hesitating.

She hovered by the counter, fiddling with a packet of instant oatmeal. I raised my mug in greeting, waiting for her to spit it out.

"What’s up?" I asked, trying to sound friendly even though I was barely awake.

"My name’s Tara Mitchell. Dude, can I ask you something kinda weird?" She grinned, eyes narrowing. "The hot teacher—what room is she actually from?"

She leaned in, lowering her voice like she was about to spill state secrets. I arched an eyebrow, playing along.

"Uh... you mean Rachel?"

I tried to act casual, but I could feel my face heating up.

Tara nodded. "I thought she lived in one of the bedrooms, but she’s always coming out of your room. It’s confusing."

She gave me a sly look, obviously fishing for gossip. I kept my face as blank as possible.

"Well..." I hesitated, then said vaguely, "Actually, she lives in both rooms."

It was a half-truth, but I hoped it’d throw her off the scent. No way was I letting anyone else in on the bathroom secret.

I said it because, honestly, I had my own worries.

If anyone found out Rachel was using my bathroom, the whole apartment would want in. And I liked my peace and quiet too much for that.

If I told the truth—that Rachel only came to my room to use the bathroom—wouldn’t everyone else want to do the same?

Just picturing that line of people at my door made me shudder. No way.

If that happened, I’d never get a moment’s rest.

I imagined a parade of roommates at my door, toothbrushes in hand, waiting their turn. Hard pass.

"Both rooms..." Tara repeated, looking thoughtful. Then she grinned and gave me a thumbs up. "Nice! So you’ve got her, huh?"

She winked, clearly impressed. I just shrugged, letting her think whatever she wanted.

I just smiled and kept my mouth shut.

Sometimes, not saying anything was the best move.

"What a shame..." Tara sighed, shaking her head.

She looked genuinely disappointed, which caught me by surprise.

"What’s a shame?" I asked, frowning. "Are you saying she’s out of my league? Am I really that much of a beast?"

I tried to sound offended, but I couldn’t keep the grin off my face.

She blinked, then burst out laughing. "No, no, you misunderstood! I mean, one of the girls in our room seems to like you. That’s the real shame."

She nudged me, eyebrows raised. I felt a weird mix of pride and regret.

"Oh... really?" I was surprised and, honestly, a little bummed. "Which girl? I can’t even match names to faces in your room. You got a photo roster or something?"

I grinned, only half joking. Tara rolled her eyes, but I could tell she was amused.

She shot me a look of mock exasperation. "Guys—always chasing after the next new thing."

She shook her head, laughing as she walked away. I watched her go, still wondering if she’d ever spill the secret.

Soon enough, it was rent time again.

The mood in the apartment changed—everyone was on edge, waiting for the next disaster. The sub-landlord started making his rounds, clipboard in hand, acting like he owned the place.

The couple in the secondary bedroom blew up at the sub-landlord. They wanted a rent break, since they’d been promised no partitions when they moved in.

Their voices echoed down the hallway, the fight getting louder by the minute. The rest of us pretended not to listen, but everyone was tense.

Having a real room versus living behind a partition was night and day—a closet wasn’t the same as a bedroom, no matter what the landlord said.

It was true. The place had gone from feeling roomy to straight-up claustrophobic. No one wanted to pay full price for half a closet.

But the landlord just shrugged, counting his cash, and refused to budge. The argument got so heated I thought someone might actually throw a punch.

I heard a door slam, then a string of curses. It was only a matter of time before someone snapped for good.

In the end, the couple packed up and left in the middle of the night, not even bothering to try for their deposit back.

They rolled their suitcases down the stairs at 2 a.m., and I watched from my balcony, feeling a little bad for them.

It wasn’t long before two strangers moved into the secondary bedroom.