Kabanata 16: Chapter 16: The Adventurer
She changed her hair like other people changed moods.
One week it was bubblegum pink, the next it was a shaved side with painted symbols, and once, a fully buzzed look with glitter in the shape of stars. *The Adventurer* didn't ask for permission. Not from people, not from life, not even from herself.
She felt first, jumped second, questioned third.
If at all.
Room 304 didn't always know what to do with her.
One day she was painting in the stairwell at 2 a.m., the next she was crying over a 90s music video alone on the roof. She never explained herself. She didn't need to.
She wasn't unpredictable.
She was raw.
She had the soul of a poet and the habits of a stray cat, always drifting into rooms unannounced, staring at people a little too long, curling up in places no one expected.
Her corner of the dorm looked like a thrift store exploded.
Velvet jackets. Tarot cards. Broken Polaroid cameras. Sketchbooks full of half-drawn faces she didn't remember starting.
She lived in pieces.
And somehow, she made them beautiful.
People assumed she was reckless.
But she was just… curious.
About everything.
How colors changed in different lights.
How people said one thing and meant another.
How sadness didn't feel the same every time.
She wasn't good at routines.
She wasn't good at planning.
She was good at feeling.
Sometimes too good.
Tonight, the group had gone bowling.
She didn't play.
Just watched.
Took photos with a disposable camera. Not for Instagram. For herself.
She caught the moment Spark slipped on the lane and Commander caught her without breaking eye contact.
She caught Guardian silently handing Observer a water bottle like it was a ritual.
She caught the stillness between people.
That's what she loved most.
Later, when everyone trickled back to the dorm, laughing and fake-fighting over who won, she stayed behind. Wandered through the nearby art building. Found an unlocked classroom. Sat on the floor.
Pulled out her sketchbook.
Drew them.
All of them.
Not perfectly.
Just honestly.
Anya curled over herself with headphones.
Architect standing half in shadow.
Debater's hands mid-air like punctuation.
It was her way of loving.
When she returned, it was past midnight.
Only one light was on, Romantic's.
She smiled at that.
Tiptoed into the kitchen.
Found a note on the fridge.
"We saved you the last slice. You matter."
She stared at it.
Then at the pizza.
Then at the fridge magnet, a crooked rainbow.
Her throat tightened.
No one had said anything.
But they'd seen her.
She took the pizza.
Ate it slowly.
Cried a little.
Didn't wipe her face.
Just let it happen.
Then the knock.
"Good night," someone said.
She smiled.
Didn't speak.
Just pressed her forehead to the fridge.
And whispered:
"Good night to all of it."
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