Chapter 2: Crossing the Line

My bedroom was the master, just steps from the bathroom. Natalie’s room was farther inside, down a stretch of dim hallway where the lightbulb had burned out ages ago. Every time we crossed paths there, it felt like a scene from a coming-of-age movie—shadows, secrets, and the sense that anything could happen.

I froze. Never in a million years did I expect to find a slim, twenty-year-old girl in a pink towel walking toward me in that shadowy hallway.

She blinked, hesitating, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. For a moment, we were both caught—equal parts embarrassed and amused.

We stood there for what felt like forever, the only sound the fridge humming from the kitchen. The tension was thick enough to cut with a butter knife.

We both glanced at the bathroom door, then at each other, silently admitting we’d both been caught in the act—half-dressed, neither wanting to explain.

Suddenly, the front door clunked open. The roommate’s hurried footsteps and muffled chatter echoed down the hallway. No way could we just stand there like this.

My cheeks flushed, panic prickling my skin. I darted back into my room, leaving the door open a crack.

"Don’t close it, let me in too," Natalie said, her hand on the frame as she squeezed in behind me. Her towel brushed my arm as she ducked inside, breathing a relieved sigh.

As soon as the bedroom door shut, we heard the roommate’s keys and shopping bags clattering in the living room, her voice drifting toward the kitchen.

She was already banging pans together and humming along to some pop song. It was like she always knew when people needed privacy.

"Why’d she come back so early today?" I tried to sound casual, but my heart hammered in my chest. I glanced at Natalie, who still clutched her towel with both hands.

"Maybe she’s getting ready to cook," Natalie replied, rolling her eyes with a hint of mischief. "Washing pots, chopping veggies again."

We lingered by the door, listening to the sizzle from the kitchen. Every second felt longer than the last.

"She seems to be staying in the living room now," Natalie whispered. Her voice was gentle, sweet, and a little breathless. "So awkward. Looks like we’re trapped in here. If we go out, she’ll see us for sure."

I pictured the look we’d get from the roommate—a sly grin, a story spreading by the next day. No way did either of us want to become the apartment gossip.

Natalie held the door, knuckles white, eyes darting from the couch to the window. She kept glancing at the handle, like she could will the situation to end by sheer force of will.

Seeing I was silent, she added, "Looks like I’ll have to hide in your room for a while." Her voice was shaky, but she tried to sound casual.

So the two of us just stood there, not moving, not sitting, letting the silence stretch heavy as wet laundry.

Originally, I’d planned to just watch some YouTube videos and relax before my shower. Now, with Natalie standing inches away—wrapped in nothing but a towel and smelling faintly of shampoo—I found it impossible to focus on anything else.

My mind raced, body tense. I tried to keep my eyes on the floor, but curiosity kept winning.

I looked at Natalie, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out, trying to steady my nerves.

"Sit for a while," I said, gesturing to the old gray couch pushed up against the wall, trying to play it cool, even as my heart pounded.