My roommate, Ashley, was a literalist. She had to get to the bottom of everything, no matter how inappropriate the timing. One night, while I was deep in sleep, she stood by my bed and whispered my name, asking, "Are you asleep?" I woke up groggy and annoyed, glaring at her. She just smiled and said, "See? You weren't sleeping. Otherwise, how could you answer me?" Once, I noticed she wasn't in class, so I kindly signed her in on the app. But right before the class ended, she burst in, holding her phone up to the professor. "Professor, I wasn't even here! Why does the app say I signed in? Is your system broken?" The professor traced the IP address back to me. I got an 'F' for academic dishonesty and had to retake the course. Later, during the biggest speech competition of the year, Ashley stood up in front of the entire auditorium and asked why my speech was exactly the same as the thoughts in her head. I was disqualified, lost my scholarship, and was branded a plagiarist. Unable to handle the depression and the ruin of my reputation, I climbed to the roof of the library in the middle of the night. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my dorm room. Back to the night Ashley asked me if I was asleep. 1 "Harper, are you asleep?" Hearing Ashley’s punchable voice, I couldn't tell if I was dreaming or awake. My hand fumbled under the pillow until I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up, and the date confirmed it. I was reborn. Outside my bed curtains, Ashley didn't give up. She kept calling my name. I immediately turned off my phone, shoved in my earplugs, and squeezed my eyes shut. Predictably, when I didn't respond, she ripped my curtains open. It was past 1 AM, but our other roommate, Chloe, was still gaming. The glare from Chloe’s monitor hit my eyelids, accompanied by the frantic clicking of a mechanical keyboard. With the curtain open, Ashley leaned in. "Harper? Harper? Are you asleep?" Her voice got louder. Any living person would have woken up by now, but I kept my eyes shut tight. I knew I couldn't wake up. If I did, she won. In my past life, Ashley loved these obedience tests. If I opened my eyes and asked what she wanted, she’d just say, "Oh, nothing. I just wanted to know if you were sleeping." I’d be too angry to go back to sleep, while she’d climb into bed, satisfied. Her bizarre behavior wasn't limited to this. Freshman year, she introduced herself as a "small-town girl" who didn't understand big city life, claiming she’d need to ask us for help constantly. She was like a newborn baby, her brain smooth as a marble. In college, professors posted everything on the student portal or the group chat. If you read the syllabus, you knew what to do. But she always asked us. "Harper, how do I submit this assignment? I don't get it." I’d tell her to check the group chat. She wouldn't look. "But what format? Word or PDF?" "Either is fine. Just check the syllabus." She would filter out my words and continue whining. "Harper, why won't it upload? Come help me." I’d tell her to read the instructions again. She’d finally listen, only to say, "Where are the instructions? How do I open them? I don't know how." I almost died of frustration back then. Since then, I’d kept my guard up. But idiots like her always find a way to blindside you. 2 One morning, a roommate slept in and asked me to sign her in. When I got to class, I realized I was the only one from our dorm who showed up. It was a lecture hall class, and the professor rarely checked faces, so I signed all four of us in on the app. Just as I was feeling good about being a supportive roommate, Ashley burst through the main doors. She marched right up to the lecturer at the podium, phone in hand. "Professor, why does the app say I’m here when I wasn’t? Is your system glitched?" The entire hall stared at her. I broke out in a cold sweat. The professor looked at her, face stony. "You know exactly how you got signed in." "I really don't! That's why I'm asking. Your system must be broken. I didn't tap anything, but it says 'Present'." Ashley looked innocent. The professor laughed in disbelief and quickly traced it back to my account. Because I signed in for three people, I received an automatic failure for the course and had to pay to retake it next semester. The other roommates lost participation points. I was livid. I asked Ashley through gritted teeth why she had to cause trouble. She looked aggrieved. "How was I supposed to know you could sign in for others? Who asked you to be a busybody?" I swore never to help her again and kept my distance. I thought avoiding her would be enough, but I underestimated her insanity. The university held an English speech contest. First place came with a cash prize and a scholarship boost. I signed up, researched, and practiced for weeks. On the day of the finals, as I was delivering my speech with confidence, Ashley stood up in the audience. She interrupted me, asking loudly why my speech content was exactly identical to her thoughts. The auditorium went into an uproar. My speech was cut short. Everyone looked at me with disgust. Later, I confronted her. She hadn't even entered the competition. How could our ideas be the same? She pointed to her head. "Isn't it magical? I dreamt about it a few days ago. It was exactly what you said. I was so scared." Hearing that, I couldn't breathe. I nearly fainted. My scholarship was gone. Rumors that I was a plagiarist spread like wildfire. My depression spiraled, and eventually, I climbed that roof. Maybe God couldn't stand it anymore. He gave me a second chance. This time, I wouldn't let Ashley ruin me. She was going to pay. Ashley called my name a dozen times. I didn't move. Finally, Chloe, the gamer roommate, snapped. She ripped off her headset. "Harper, Harper! Are you calling hogs? It's the middle of the night! I can't even hear footsteps in my game!" Chloe had a rich family and a fiery temper. Ashley was terrified of her, which was why she always targeted me—the soft persimmon. 3 Intimidated by Chloe, Ashley lowered her voice but didn't stop. "I just wanted to wake her up to ask if she was sleeping." "Are you an NPC?" Chloe scoffed. "If she's asleep, why wake her up to ask if she's asleep? Do you hear yourself? Why don't you peel her eyelids open to check?" I almost laughed out loud, but the urge vanished quickly. Chloe's sarcasm gave Ashley an idea. I felt the ladder shake. She was climbing up to my bunk to check. She was determined to wake me up. I clenched my fists under the blanket. As soon as she reached the top and stuck her upper body through my curtains, I swung my fist straight out, screaming, "Die, monster!" Bam. My fist connected solidly with Ashley’s nose. She shrieked in pain, instinctively covering her face with both hands. She lost her balance and fell backward off the ladder. Thud. Even through my earplugs, the impact was loud. I kept my eyes shut, pretending to be deep in a nightmare. Ashley hit the floor hard. She stopped pretending. She rushed back to my bed, shaking the frame. "Harper! Why did you hit me?!" I had to wake up now. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, acting groggy. "Huh? Hit you? When did I hit you?" Ashley was clutching her nose, tears streaming. "You just punched me in the face! It hurts! Don't try to deny it!" I looked confused. "I was sleeping. How could I hit you? And... it's the middle of the night. Why were you in my bed? Were you trying to..." I let the sentence hang. Ashley panicked. "Of course not! I just wanted to see if you were asleep! You ungrateful witch, you hit me!" I nodded slowly. "Then you better not wake me up next time. I have terrible night terrors. This time it was a punch; next time, who knows what I might do?" "But since I'm a nice person, I'll forgive you for waking me up this time." I flopped back onto my pillow. Ashley sat on the floor, stunned into silence. Terrified of getting punched again, she sulked back to her own bed. That punch bought me a few days of peace. But I knew she wouldn't stop. As long as we lived together, my life would be miserable. I went to the Academic Advisor's office the next day to request a room transfer. I thought her behavior would be enough grounds, but I miscalculated. "Transfer dorms?" Mr. Henderson, our advisor, leaned back in his chair. "That won't do. Personalities clash; that's life. You need to learn to adapt. Ashley hasn't done anything serious. You're all classmates. Just communicate." "Besides, the dorms are full. Where would you go? Be mature. Look at my son—he's studying in the UK, living with foreigners. He complained at first, but now he's adapted perfectly. If he can do it, why can't you?" I rolled my eyes internally. Mr. Henderson loved bragging about his PhD wife and his study-abroad son. It was his way of saying, "I'm better than you, so listen to me." Realizing the transfer was a dead end, I left the office. 4 A few nights later, the Class Monitor came to our dorm with a stack of papers. "Mental health survey time," she said. "Mr. Henderson said to just check 'No' on everything. You know the drill. It's just a formality." We were used to this. It was bureaucratic paperwork. Ashley stared at the paper. "Why check 'No'? Can't we check 'Yes'?" "Checking 'No' is faster," the Monitor explained. "If you check 'Yes,' they have to interview you. And if you actually have issues, the school might force you to take a leave of absence. Someone in the Engineering department got sent home for severe depression last year." Ashley nodded thoughtfully. After the Monitor left, I looked at Ashley and casually said, "It's not that serious. That's an exaggeration. If someone has a mental illness, the school has to take responsibility. That's what the counseling center is for." Ashley picked up her pen. I finished mine in ten seconds. She was still pondering the third question. The next day, the forms were submitted. A few days later, during a lecture, Mr. Henderson knocked on the classroom door, apologized to the professor, and called Ashley out. Sensing drama, I slipped out the back door to eavesdrop. In an empty classroom down the hall, Henderson threw the survey at Ashley. "Who told you to fill this out randomly?! Didn't the Monitor tell you to check 'No' for everything?" Ashley blinked her innocent, wide eyes. "Why do we have to check 'No'? Can't we fill it out according to how we feel?" Henderson looked like he might have a stroke. He couldn't admit he just wanted to avoid paperwork. "I told you to check 'No,' so just listen! Why so many questions?" Ashley, oblivious to his rage, continued, "But some of these apply to me. If I check 'No,' isn't that lying? The form says to be truthful." Henderson had initially worried she might be suicidal—which would ruin his career. Now he realized she wasn't mentally ill; she was just an idiot. "Forget it. Here's a blank one. Fill it out again, check 'No' on everything, and bring it to my office after class." Ashley took the paper. "Oh." Henderson thought he was safe. He was wrong. After class, Ashley went to the office. Coincidentally, the Dean of the College was there, inspecting student welfare records. "Don't worry, Dean," Henderson was saying smoothly. "We take mental health very seriously here." He signaled Ashley to leave the paper and get out. She didn't get the hint. She turned to the Dean. "Dean, why do we have to check 'No' on every question? Is that a school rule?"
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