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There's a frown painting Ifa's lips when she clicks on her word document, frizzy hair pushed away from her face and held in place by a blue, glittery clip. When the document opens up, launching from the bottom of the screen, stretching it's way up to the top, she scans her eyes over the title, bottom lip latched between her teeth. Once she sees that she's saved over her notes, again, Ifa lets out an audible sigh, eyes fluttering closed, long eyelashes resting against the pink of her cheeks. A dull ache settles in the pit of her stomach, churning, pulling at her insides. There's a long pause where she doesn't open her eyes, hoping that she hasn't done it again. But when she looks at the title again, mocking, she knows for sure that she's lost all her notes for class again. All of them, and she spent an entire night in a dingy café and ten bucks on cups of coffees to get them done on time.
But no, she's messed up again, and so she pulls her phone out, dialling her roommate's number as her eyes flit across her laptop's screen, glad that at least she's managed to complete her other assignment before time. As she waits for Anaya to pick up, her gaze wanders over to the window, watching the snow fall down on the earth, it's movements soft, lazy, coating the road in a blanket of white. The inside of the café is warm, cozy, and so the snow almost looks welcoming. But Ifa's known the snow long enough to know that the moment she steps back out, beanie pulled low over her head, jacket pulled tightly against her body, the biting wind will nip at her entire self, cold, hostile, urging her to rush to the comfort of interiors as soon as she can. Before she can divulge in her thoughts again, her roommate picks up, voice heavy, "What's up, Ifa?"
Ifa's dark eyebrows furrow as she hears the pants breaking through her sentence, but she shakes her head, choosing to ignore them as she says, "I lost them again."
Ifa's voice is soft, careful, like she's testing new waters, like Anaya isn't someone she's lived with since the junior year of high school, like she's a stranger that she's calling for the first time, but Anaya's used to it now. And she knows exactly what Ifa is talking about too, since she's known her long enough to know that's she always, always accidentally saved over her notes because she's too lazy to make a layout again.
"God, Ifa. Your Pride and Prejudice notes?"
"Yes."
"The test is tomorrow," Anaya continues, voice muffled, as if she's holding something over the microphone, "How are you going to study?"
"Uh — should I call Aafia? She'll know what to do, right?"
Anaya sighs, and Ifa can almost imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose between her index finger and thumb, exasperated that Ifa forgot, again, "Aafia's with Noémie, Ish, she's not going to pick up your call."
"I'll cry, Anaya," Ifa warns, only jokingly, but there's nothing to say that she wouldn't — because if there's one thing that Ifa has no control over, it's her tears.
