By the second week of the semester, the four of them had fallen into a rhythm.
Mornings in the new hostel room were a kind of organized chaos—the sound of toothbrushes clattering, someone's phone alarm going off three times before being silenced, and Mope's music blasting from her mini speaker before the sun was even fully up.
Felicity had started waking up earlier just to have ten minutes of quiet before the madness began. She'd sit by the window, notebook in her lap, pretending to revise while she watched the early light spill across the courtyard below.
"Felicity!" Mope's voice cut through the peace one morning. "Did you take my lip gloss again?"
Felicity looked up from her notes. "You mean the one you said was too pink for you?"
"That doesn't mean I don't want it anymore!" Mope yelled back, her voice echoing from the bathroom.
Charity, who was half dressed and struggling with her earrings, laughed. "You two sound like a married couple."
Bisola, sitting by her neatly arranged corner of the room, sipped from her coffee mug and said with a small smile, "You'll get used to it. They argue every day, but five minutes later they're sharing biscuits.
"That's true," Bisola said. "Fighting and food — their love language."
Felicity smiled. The room felt alive in a way she hadn't expected.
And oddly enough she didn't seem to mind it.
After classes had ended for the day, they all ended up sprawled across their bunks, Mope lay face down on her bed, groaning dramatically. "If I ever see that lecturer again, I'll scream."
"You said that yesterday,"" Bisola said, tossing her a pillow.
"Because he keeps acting like we all love statistics," Mope said. "Nobody loves statistics."
Felicity chuckled. "I don't know, I kinda—"
"Don't you dare say you like it," Mope warned, lifting her head.
"I didn't say like," Felicity said quickly, laughing. "I said kinda"
Charity giggled softly. "You're all ridiculous."
That sound — Charity's laugh — had started growing on Felicity. It was light, almost shy, like she wasn't used to letting herself relax around people.She wasn't the dramatic, toxic ex Leon had described in his late-night confessions. If anything, she was gentle. Calm. The kind of girl who gave second chances easily but didn't talk much about her own pain.
The thought made Felicity uneasy. But she buried it quickly.
That weekend, when the sun dipped and the air smelt like fresh flowers, they decided to sit outside near the hostel courtyard. Music drifted from someone's speakers, and a soft breeze carried laughter and snippets of conversations around them
"Okay, girls," Bisola said suddenly, holding up her cup of Fanta like it was a microphone. "Real question — who here has cried because of a guy?"
Mope groaned. "Why are we doing this again?"
"Because it's healing!" Bisola declared dramatically. "You can't be truly free until you admit the tears."
"I'll go first," Mope said, flipping her braids. "In 200 level, I cried because Damilola didn't text me for a week. Only to find out he was in the hospital for malaria."
They all burst into laughter.
"Girl!" Bisola said. "You were mourning the man while he was fighting mosquitoes!"
Charity laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. "That's terrible."
"Okay, okay," Bisola said, wiping her eyes. "My turn. I cried because my ex blocked me on WhatsApp — only to realize later it was network. I embarrassed myself in his DMs."
Everyone erupted again.
"Alright, your turn, Felicity," Mope said, pointing at her.
Felicity raised her brow. "Pass."
"No passes allowed," Bisola said.
"Come on," Charity added, grinning. "You definitely have a story."
Felicity looked down at her cup. "You'd be surprised."
The teasing faded, replaced by a playful kind of curiosity. "That means yes," Mope said, nudging her.
"Fine," Felicity said at last, smiling faintly. "I did once. But not because he left. Because I knew he would."
That silenced them for a moment — not awkwardly, but softly. Then Charity reached over and lightly tapped her arm. "You're stronger than you look."
Felicity smiled, grateful for how effortlessly kind Charity could be.
If only she knew the full story.
Later that night, back in the room, the air smelled faintly of body spray and detergent. Bisola was on a call with her boyfriend, Mope was humming while she painted her toe nails, and Charity sat cross legged on her bed scrolling through her phone.
Felicity folded laundry quietly, her mind running circles around the same thought—what are the odds that out of all the rooms, they'd end up here? With her.
""Hey," Charity said suddenly, breaking her out of her thoughts. "Can I ask you something?"
Felicity looked up. "Sure."
"What's your type?"
Felicity blinked, caught off guard. "That's… random."
Charity smiled, setting her phone down. "I know. I'm just curious. You seem like the type who likes calm guys — you know, the sweet, reliable kind."
Felicity thought about Leon — about his sharp grin, his bad timing, the way he made her feel alive and uncertain all at once."Maybe," she said slowly. "But sometimes calm gets boring."
Charity tilted her head, smiling faintly. "Yeah. Sometimes the wild ones are the hardest to let go of."
Their eyes met briefly. Something flickered between them—an understanding neither of them wanted to name. Then Charity laughed softly and changed the subject, asking about class schedules and hostel food instead.
By the times the lighted were off, everyone was asleep except Felicity. She lay on her back, eyes tracing the ceiling, wondering if that was a random question really that Charity asked or if she had or she was suspicious.
By the time the lights were off, everyone was half-asleep except Felicity. She lay on her back, eyes tracing the glow-in-the-dark stars someone had stuck to the ceiling.
Across the room, Charity's breathing was even, calm. Mope snored lightly. Bisola mumbled something in her sleep.
Felicity exhaled quietly, her chest tight with thoughts she couldn't voice.
Charity— Leon's Charity — was nothing like he'd said.
She was warm. Funny. Surprisingly gentle.
And the more Felicity got to know her, the more she started to doubt what she'd been told.
Maybe Leon hadn't lied — maybe he'd just never really understood her.
Or maybe none of them really understood anything.
As the night deepened, Felicity rolled over and whispered to herself,
"Things are about to get very complicated."