Verse 7

Okay, now back to the dorm.

Malik and I got to talking for a bit.

Turns out Malik is cool. Like … annoyingly cool. The kind of person who makes friends just by standing in the same room long enough. He plays guitar and drums. Also, skateboards and paints. Come on, leave something for the rest of us.

I already feel like a side character in his life.

But he’s chill. He didn’t judge me for reading alone or having books stacked next to my bed instead of posters of rappers or whatever normal guys are supposed to have.

Malik was deep into his “afternoon nap,” snoring like a dying chainsaw. My stomach grumbled like it was starting its own protest. Alright, time to escape this noise.

It was 4:30 PM.

I decided to head out and get something to eat.

I knew the cafeteria was somewhere in the hostels… I just wasn’t sure where. Could I ask someone? Sure. Will I? Absolutely not. I’ll find it myself. It’s a cafeteria, not a secret lair.

I tried on my yellow headphones but they were uncharged. Instead I took out my earbuds, connected them to my phone, and made my way down the stairs, bumping into a few students along the way. Some said hi. Some just nodded. Same difference to me. I'm a professional head-shaker. We can shake each other off. PAUSE!

I reached the second floor and almost choked. Was the building on fire? 

Shit! I gotta get my stuff.

“Heeey man, want a hit?” a voice behind me called.

I turned around to see a boy or man, a guy in a white beanie holding what looked like a cigarette. But it had a weird, funky smell that found its way to my lungs. 

It definitely wasn’t a cigarette. Something much... cough, cough... stronger

“No,” I answered, “I’m good.”

Welcome to the University, where the air smells like rebellion and no one reads the evacuation signs.

I waved the smoke away like I was trying to exorcise a ghost.

The beanie guy chuckled. “Suit yourself, man. It’s that lemon haze.”

Sure. Lemon haze. My lungs felt like they had survived a burning building.

I kept moving.

Eventually, I followed the holy scent of fried something and the low hum of student chatter. The cafeteria was tucked into a corner of the hostel block like it was trying to avoid being found.

Inside, it was... wild. Metal trays clanked. Someone was arguing over juice. A microwave beeped like it was counting down to detonation.

I got in line behind a tall girl with blue braids and the kind of energy that said Don’t test me. She was typing furiously with one hand and sipping a juice box like it owed her money.

I thought about asking her something, but... nah. Plus she had earbuds on.

The cashier waved her forward. “What do you want?”

She took a sip from the box. “Crisps and a bottle of energy drink.”

The guy punched it in, then said, “Fifty Kraps.”

For context, that's about five hundred dollars.

“What?!” she snapped. “For crisps and an energy drink? No way.”

Honestly, I was about to order the same thing. Not anymore. Looks like the school’s trying to drain our wallets dry—as if tuition wasn’t already criminal.

I slipped out of the line like a ninja avoiding debt and made my way toward the gate.

No way am I paying that kinda money.

I glanced back. Looked like the girl with the blue braids wasn’t buying it either.

I was whistling “Don’t Look Back in Anger” by Oasis when someone interlocked their arm with mine.