In the morning, Raif got up as the sun was rising. He had a shower and made his way to the kitchen. He was only planning on getting a drink of water, as he didn't own anything more than condiments in the fridge. He planned to get a bite in one of the food courts between classes and go grocery shopping after school. He was about to leave when he saw a little meal set out on the table covered by adorable glass domes. His initial response was that the meal had nothing to do with him, but he was curious. Did Wyn always set out her breakfast the night before? However, on closer examination, the breakfast was for him. There was an envelope on the table in front of the dome covering a cinnamon bun. He opened the envelope. It was filled with confetti and a crisp piece of stationery. 

Dear Raif,

I'm only calling you 'dear' because that is how a proper letter ought to begin. You get confetti because none of this is your fault.

I need to explain why I don't want you to live with me. I have an older brother. When he was in college he moved in with a girl, thinking that it wouldn't be different than having any other roommate. He was wrong. He ended up marrying her. However, they are all wrong for each other. They have nothing in common and being in the same room as them is a punishment for all involved. They yell, disagree, fight, refuse to talk to each other and the time spent with them is nightmarish. 

Proximity is not love.

I don't want to repeat their mistake, but since we have both been landed in this situation, we have to make the most of it. 

I have thought of a system to help avoid us relying on each other emotionally, or even becoming friends. We will cooperate, which is all I want. If you want to talk to me in person, you will need to take a paper out of this jar and do what it says. If you can't do the task, you can email me. I want to pretend we’re miles away from each other under different stars. 

Sincerely,

Wyn

P.S. I'm giving you my email address. 

P.P.S. Enjoy breakfast. Welcome home.

Raif folded up the paper and thought about the contents of it for twenty seconds before he stuffed the bun in his mouth, left the rest of the food on the table (there was cut melon and a carton of apple juice), and departed.

On his way to school, he thought about what Wyn wrote. She said she was afraid to fall in love with him and it wasn’t personal? Horsefeathers! It was personal. It couldn’t be anything but personal. 

When he was younger, girls falling for him was an almost daily occurrence. The frequency had ebbed as he’d aged, partly because he had less interest in chasing random girls and partly because he kept his flirting at such a low level, it didn’t arouse expectations.

He kicked upturns in the pavement as he walked. He wished he’d brought her note along with him so he could read it again and find hints to the truth. She didn’t want to talk to him. What had he done to make her not want to talk to him? He’d done something. Sometime in the past, he’d done something to anger her. If only he could figure out what.

In class, he couldn’t focus on the lecture. Raif gazed out the window, thinking about what he looked like and wondering if Wyn found him attractive. He was ordinary with an average build, average face, average money, average all over, except for maybe one thing. He had a good nose. He'd been told repeatedly by girls that the cartilage in his nose was where it was at. Dark hair, hazel eyes, and excellent nose cartilage. But that couldn't be enough to win over Wyntessa. 

He always thought his ability to win over girls came from his charm. He was a man who wasn’t afraid to say whatever needed to be said, do whatever needed to be done to get a girl to like him, and when he was a teenager, it had been easy to give the girls what they wanted. 

He’d given his attention to every girl who wanted it. Needless to say, he had had exactly as many flirtationships blow up in his face as he deserved, but he was certain he hadn’t done or said anything out of line when dealing with Wyn. He had been perfect. He had been better than perfect. 

Grown women were another matter. Grown women wanted to be mysterious. They wanted physical proof that there was some cosmic connection between them. So, they didn’t say what they wanted. They wanted him to guess, figure it out, have the same goals, and want the same things. 

Once he had been on a date where she wanted him to choose a dessert for her. If he chose the thing she wanted, he’d get a second date. If he chose wrong, he could never take her out again. 

He chose wrong… but not because he meant to. There had been eight items on the menu, thus only a 12.5% chance of success. It was a shame too because she had beautiful legs.

Without a doubt, he knew he could get along with Wyn. She was a superior sort of woman. Fighting typical female stereotypes, he felt that Wyn had played no games in her letter. She’d been honest about her feelings and been ladylike enough not to insult him to his face by explaining how much she objected to him personally. She didn’t want to shack up with a player, end up in bed with him, and regret it for the rest of her life. 

If that was all it was, everything would be fine. He just needed a little time to prove to her that he deserved that clean sink.

He hadn't had a chance to read any of the little scrolls she’d put in the jar, but he felt that didn't matter. If she wanted space, he’d give her space. What mattered most was the clean sink. 

Most of the apartments Raif had lived in didn't have dishwashers. Whoever lived there had to do the dishes. The thing was, Raif had never had a roommate who did the dishes. Raif would wash his dishes, but he did not have a generous enough spirit to do the dishes for other grown men. Every night, the dishes would stack up. They would smell and after a certain point, no one wanted to wash them, and there was a stinky eye-sore in the middle of the apartment while everyone wasted their money eating out rather than becoming real adults. 

He felt he couldn't let this opportunity slide. He had seven more months of his program and when he graduated, his job would pay the whole rent. Then no more roommates forever. If only he could convince Wyn to let him stay that long.

Author's Notes: Thanks for reading!  I got to use the word 'horsefeathers'.  I love that even though that is NOT a thing, that IS a word.  HA!