Page 6 of Walk the Line

I sigh and his sigh follows immediately after. If we continue agreeing on things like this, then maybe it won’t be so bad that the man who tried to pretend he wasn’t accusing me of stealing his bedroom is currently unpacking his stuff in the house I was hoping he would stay far away from.

“You again?” I say.

“Here to stay this time.”

His deep voice penetrates my ears, commanding the room just like it did the day we met.

But that’s the only impressive thing about him, if I’m not taking into account his rich dark skin and perfectly groomed beard.

Yet even so, it’s not enough to remove my annoyance.

“Lucky me,” I respond.

“Is this the part where you start counting down with a stick in your hand?”

I ignore his question in favour of my own one. “Can you at least let me know whether you’re a student?”

“Yep. I’ll tell you now I don’t do the partying thing.” His last few syllables are laced with firmness.

“Neither do I.”

But it’s tricky being in a position where I have to work out how to get the socialisation I need without losing myself in the process.

I’ve always been reserved, comfortable enough to spend a lot of time by myself, which was especially easy having a mum who didn’t care to bond with me. But I was hit with a wave of loneliness I didn’t expect as soon as I got to university, and now I’m in a constant battle with my reserved self and my lonely self.

I know that something has to change with my sociable levels.

I don’t know if that means I need to be seeking out parties though.

“Then I guess we have something in common.” His voice pulls me out of his thoughts, allowing me to finally register the fact he’s tall as hell. Height usually doesn’t impress me because I have it in spades at 6’2, but I think he might actually be rivalling me in that department.

But taking in more of his features, from his deep brown skin to his low cut hair, I come to a realisation.

A realisation he seems to come to at the same time, judging by him saying, “Didn’t catch your name.”

“Kaylah.”

“Julius.”

“Third? Second?”

“Come again?”

“Your year.”

I didn’t choose to live with him, but if we’re going to do this I need to know basic facts about him.

“Second, you? Did you say you were a student?” He’s been putting most of his attention to his clothes as we speak, but at his question he finally turns to me.

I watch as his gaze reaches the floor, and they slowly rake up my body until they reach my eyes.

Because that’s now a roommate requirement, I do the same, letting my eyes trail from top to bottom.

Even beyond his baggy tracksuit, his thick thighs are palpable, and I wonder if he does a sport.

The thought brings me back to his question, and I respond with, “No, but I am. Second year.”

“You know anyone else moving in?”