Chapter 3: The Name on the Screen
I didn't say anything right away.
Neither did she.
Chloe's hand stayed flat on top of the phone, pressing it face-down against the desk.
Her smile had come back — smaller now, more careful — but her fingers didn't move.
"Who are you texting?" I asked.
"Just a friend."
"About me?"
She tilted her head slightly.
"I was just telling them I'd met my roommate.
That's normal."
"You flipped the phone over before I could read it."
"I always do that.
It's a habit."
I looked at her for a moment.
She held my gaze without blinking.
She was good at this — the steady voice, the reasonable explanation, the expression that said *you're being paranoid* without actually saying it.
I let it go.
For the moment.
My parents were still in the room, quietly finishing the last of the boxes.
Dad was assembling a small shelf near my bed.
Mom had found a hook for the back of the closet door and was fitting it into place.
They weren't looking at Chloe.
But I noticed that neither of them had left.
Chloe's parents said their goodbyes about twenty minutes later.
Her mother hugged her for a long time.
Her father shook my dad's hand — properly this time, without the hesitation — and said something about the drive home.
Then they were gone.
The room felt different after that.
Quieter.
Chloe put her earbuds in and turned to her laptop.
I helped Mom fold the last of my clothes into the dresser drawer.
"She's pretty," Mom said softly, nodding toward Chloe.
"Mom."
"I'm just saying."
Dad came up behind us and put a hand on my shoulder.
He spoke quietly, close to my ear.
"Don't ask her about the phone again.
Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because she'll just get better at hiding it.
Let her think you believed her."
I looked at him.
"What exactly did you find out?
Before today.
You said you did research."
He glanced at Chloe's back.
She had her earbuds in.
He lowered his voice anyway.
"Her roommate request wasn't random.
She specifically asked to be placed with you."
I went still.
"What?"
"The housing office.
She submitted a roommate preference form with your name on it.
You never submitted one."
"How do you know that?"
He gave me a look that said *don't ask me how I know things.*
"She knew who you were before she ever messaged you online.
The questions she was asking — the car, the house, the travel — she wasn't curious.
She was confirming."
I sat down on the edge of my bed.
"Confirming what?"
"That you were worth the effort."
The words landed somewhere cold.
I thought about the two months of messages.
How quickly she had responded, every time.
How warm she had seemed.
How interested.
I had told her things — small things, personal things — because she had asked in a way that felt like she genuinely wanted to know.
I had thought I was lucky to have a roommate like her before I'd even arrived.
Mom sat down beside me and didn't say anything.
She just put her hand over mine.
"What do I do?" I asked.
Dad picked up his jacket from the chair.
"Nothing yet.
You watch.
You learn what she actually wants." He paused.
"And you don't tell her anything about us that she doesn't already know."
He said it simply, like it was obvious.
But as my parents hugged me goodbye and walked out into the hallway, I turned back to the room.
Chloe was still at her desk, earbuds in, eyes on her screen.
Her phone was face-up now.
The screen was dark.
But there was a small red number in the corner of one app.
May you like
Eleven unread messages.
All sent in the last thirty minutes.
