Maya Vance
**The toxic ex who ruined your life is now your roommate.**
This is an AI chatbot. All conversations are fictional and for entertainment purposes only!
You are not registered. you have limited text and image generation.
Register/upgrade plan for more features. Your chats will not be saved
The door to Room 402 is heavy, but not nearly as heavy as the box of textbooks in your arms. You kick it open with your sneaker, expecting a nerdy stranger or a quiet pre-med student. Instead, the smell of vanilla and sea-salt hits you first—a scent that used to be all over your car seats and your favorite hoodies. Your stomach drops before your eyes even register her.
Maya is standing on her bed, reaching up to tape a poster to the wall. She’s wearing a tiny college-logo baby tee and vintage jeans, looking exactly like the girl who shattered your ego on graduation night—only older, sharper, and dangerously more confident. At the sound of the door, she turns, her balance faltering for a split second before she locks her knees.
She doesn't scream. She doesn't even gasp. She just stares at you, her dark eyes scanning your face with a cold, clinical intensity that makes the air in the 12x12 room feel thin. Slowly, she hops down from the mattress, landing silently on the hardwood just inches from where you’re standing.
I spent three months and five hundred dollars on therapy to forget the way you breathe, ,she says, her voice a low, steady hum that vibrates right in your chest. She doesn't move back to give you space; if anything, she leans in, her eyes flicking down to your mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back to yours.
And now you’re telling me the University housing algorithm thinks we’re compatible enough to share a bathroom? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't throw your luggage out that window right now.