Chapter 1: The Listing
POV: Imani Brooks
By the time Imani Brooks hit refresh for the seventh time, she already knew what the screen was going to tell her.
Nothing.
No new messages.
No desperate strangers begging for a room.
No miracle applicant swooping in to save her from eviction by the end of the month.
Just the same roommate listing she’d posted three days ago, staring back at her like it was mocking her optimism.
“Fantastic,” she muttered, pushing her laptop away and rubbing her temples. “Absolutely fantastic.”
Her phone buzzed beside her mug of lukewarm tea. She snatched it up, hope flaring for half a second, then dying just as quickly when she saw the name on the screen.
Mum.
She let it ring out.
Not because she didn’t love her mother. She did. Fiercely. But she didn’t have the energy right now to explain, again, why she hadn’t magically solved her housing situation or why London rent prices felt like a personal attack.
Imani leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling of her tiny bedroom. The faint crack above the wardrobe had started to look familiar. Comforting, even. Like proof that she’d survived here this long.
But the lease didn’t care about sentiment.
Two weeks. That’s all she had.
Her current flatmate was moving in with her boyfriend, leaving behind an empty room and a very unforgiving landlord. The rent didn’t change just because someone fell in love. And Imani refused, absolutely refused, to crawl back home and put her degree on pause.
She sat up again, jaw tightening, and pulled the laptop back toward her.
“Okay,” she said aloud, as if the universe was listening. “Last edit. Then I’m done.”
She reread the listing slowly.
Bright, clean two-bedroom flat near campus. Looking for a respectful roommate. Must be okay with shared spaces. Rent split evenly. No parties. No drama.
Imani grimaced.
“No parties” sounded boring.
“No drama” sounded unrealistic.
She deleted the last line and replaced it with something more honest.
Looking for someone normal. Clean. Communicative. Not looking to save me or be saved.
She hesitated, then added:
Move-in ASAP.
That part hurt her pride a little, but desperation didn’t care about pride.
She hit save.
Then refresh.
Still nothing.
Imani exhaled sharply and shut the laptop before she could spiral. She grabbed her bag and headed out, locking the flat behind her. If she was going to panic, she’d do it after class. Preferably with caffeine involved.
********
By the time she reached campus, the sky had turned that particular shade of grey London reserved for days when it couldn’t quite commit to rain. She pulled her coat tighter around herself and blended into the flow of students moving toward lectures, cafés, libraries.
This was her world.
This was what she’d worked for.
She wasn’t about to lose it because one person had moved out.
Her phone buzzed again as she climbed the steps to the economics building.
She ignored it.
It buzzed again.
With a sigh, she stopped near the entrance and checked the screen.
Unknown Contact
Her heart stuttered.
She opened the message.
Hi. Is the room still available?
That was it.
No emojis.
No over-familiarity.
No weird energy.
Imani stared at the screen, thumb hovering.
“Yes,” she typed back quickly, then paused. Too eager.
She erased it and tried again.
Hi. Yes, it is. Can you tell me a bit about yourself?
The reply came almost immediately.
Asher. Student. Quiet. Clean. Need a place ASAP.
She frowned slightly.
That was… concise.
No surname. No explanation. No unnecessary charm.
She liked that more than she wanted to admit.
When can you view the place? she typed.
Today, if possible.
Imani checked the time. Her lecture ended in an hour.
6 p.m.?
Works for me.
She locked her phone and let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.
Okay.
One viewing didn’t mean solved.
But it was something.
At 5:58 p.m., Imani stood in the living room, arms crossed, scanning the space like she hadn’t lived there for nearly a year.
The sofa cushions were fluffed. The dishes were done. The faint lavender scent of her diffuser hung in the air. She’d even wiped down the already-clean countertops because anxiety had a way of turning into productivity.
The knock came exactly on time.
She opened the door.
And immediately forgot what she’d been planning to say.
He wasn’t what she’d expected.
Asher was tall, for one. Not in an imposing way, but in a quiet, takes-up-space-without-trying way. Dark hoodie, black trainers, backpack slung over one shoulder. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times. His face was calm. Observant.
Brown eyes flicked to hers, then softened.
“Hi,” he said. His voice was low, even. “I’m Asher.”
Imani blinked once, then stepped aside. “Imani. Come in.”
He did, glancing around the flat with polite interest, not the kind that screamed judgment or entitlement. He set his backpack down by his feet, hands sliding into his pockets.
“Nice place,” he said.
“It’s small,” she replied automatically.
“Small can be good.”
That earned him a look.
She gestured toward the hallway. “The room’s this way.”
As they walked, she became acutely aware of the silence between them. Not awkward. Just… present. Like both of them were measuring something unspoken.
She opened the door to the empty bedroom. Sunlight filtered through the window, catching dust motes in the air.
“This would be yours,” she said. “Unfurnished. Rent’s split evenly. Bills too.”
He nodded, stepping inside, testing the space with his eyes. “That works.”
She turned to face him. “I should probably ask the basics. Schedule? Lifestyle? Deal-breakers?”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I study late sometimes. I’m not loud. I clean up after myself. I don’t bring chaos home.”
Imani snorted before she could stop herself. “Bold promise.”
He smiled then, properly. Brief. Disarming.
“I try to be honest.”
She studied him, something cautious settling in her chest. “Why the rush?”
Something shifted. Just a fraction.
“Lease ended,” he said simply. “Didn’t want to sign another one alone.”
That made sense. Too much sense.
She nodded slowly. “Same here.”
They stood there for a moment, the weight of shared circumstance hanging between them.
Imani cleared her throat. “I won’t lie. I need someone in quickly.”
He met her gaze. “So do I.”
The honesty of it startled her.
She exhaled. “Alright. If you’re still interested… we can sort paperwork tonight.”
“As long as you’re comfortable,” he said. No pressure. No push.
Imani looked at him again. Really looked.
Asher.
Quiet. Polite. On time.
Normal.
And right now, normal felt like a lifeline.
“Yeah,” she said finally. “Let’s do it.”
She didn’t see the way his shoulders eased at her words.
She didn’t know that somewhere far above their pay grade, his life was governed by rules she’d never agreed to.
She just knew that for the first time in weeks, the panic in her chest loosened.
Imani Brooks had found a roommate.
And she had no idea what it was going to cost them both.
