The 5th Roommate (girlxgirl)

1. Stupidity

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"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe."

- Albert Einstein
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"SORAYA, GET UP," my mom called as she shook my foot under the covers gently. "Your new roommate is arriving today. We gotta get cleaning."

I groaned at having to wake up so early. It wasn't even a school day.

"Mom, they're not arriving until tonight," I rolled over to plant my face in my pillow. "Give me one more hour."

"Nuh uh," My mom rudely took my covers off of me. "You have errands to run. You promised Belle you'd help her with her things."

I grunted, still not taking my face off my pillow. "Belle is literally my best friend. She won't mind me sleeping in." My voice was muffled.

"Her grandpa does. You know how he gets."

I groaned again. "Ugh, I'm in pain."

"From what?"

"From having to wake up early."

My mom chuckled. "Get up, lazy. Breakfast is already downstairs." She took my laundry and walked out, reminding me one last time to get up.

I reluctantly obeyed and sat up, stretching and moaning in relief as joints cracked. Out of habit, I made my bed and drank the bottled water on my bedside table. I hurriedly put on jeans and an oversized sweater, the cold making me jumpy. Then I ran down for breakfast.

My dad was already seated, a cup of steaming hot tea in front of him as he read from his kindle. Usually it would be the newspaper, but they didn't deliver it in english here, so he settled with his books.

Charles Leon actually looked like his country. You could take one look at him and say, "He's definitely from Greece."

His natural tan and fit build, his full facial hair that had streaks of white, his chiseled features, and his eyes that were the exact same shade as the Greek waters in the afternoon; everyone could see why my mom was head-over-heels for him.

"Hey, hon, you working today?" My mom walked in the room and kissed my dad on his cheek, leaning in to wrap an arm around him as he read.

My dad hummed his yes.

My mom was Persian Indian, and the exotic aura she had about her made every man swoon for her attention. My dad just happened to be the winner.

"Yazmin, my love," my dad always called my mom those three words, every time. I asked him if he ever got tired saying four syllables even when he was in a hurry. He said he loved her too much to care. "They have those herbs you want at the market. Do you want me to get some for you?"

My mom popped her head out the kitchen, tilting her head in contemplation and allowing her silky black hair to flow down her shoulders. "I'll give you a list."

Many people say I look like my mom; my dark hair, the natural almost cat-eye shape of my eyes, the arches of my eyebrows, my nose, and lips. Moreover, the feature I inherited from her that I love the most are my eyelashes. I absolutely hated mascara and curlers, so having lashes naturally thick and curled at the ends are a blessing.

The only genetic inheritance I got from my dad was his strange sea-green eyes. People say they've never seen that color before, and my mom would always tell them to go visit Greece's seas.

I rushed through breakfast and put on my boots, waving goodbye to both my parents. I grabbed my keys and put on my favorite, worn-out leather jacket that my dad had allowed me to borrow when I was a freshman. I never gave it back and it just sort of became mine.