Being convinced your roommate is secretly in one.
BEING CONVINCED YOUR ROOMMATE IS SECRETLY IN ONE.
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Remember the crisp start to each semester? Fresh notebooks, highlighters in every shade, ambitious syllabi. Our initial study habits were a work of art: color-coded notes, meticulously planned study groups. We entered with a naive belief in our own invincibility.
But then came the inevitable: late nights fueled by questionable coffee, creeping doubt, and yes, the private cry in the stacks, tucked between ancient texts, a testament to immense pressure. It’s a shared rite of passage, isn't it? That moment when the veneer cracks, raw vulnerability undeniable.
Beyond the academic grind, there were always the whispers. Secret societies, ancient traditions, clandestine meetings under moonlight. Every campus had its myths, its legends. And sometimes, these myths felt unnervingly close to home. You'd watch your roommate disappear at odd hours, return with a cryptic smile, or take hushed calls behind a locked door. Were they just busy? Or were their late-night excursions something far older, more exclusive? You’d scour their desk for clues, convinced they were part of a secret world within ours. This quiet suspicion, a mix of intrigue and paranoia, became another layer to our bewildering collegiate experience. A peculiar blend of isolation and shared understanding.
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