Drip. Drip. Drip. You sit there, staring at the leaky sink. The droplets of water disappearing down the drain.
A creak emanates from the bed as you shift your weight, the metal frame holding everything up. You check your phone, five percent, you should have asked for a charger, yours had gotten lost in China.
Leaning forward, you pull a stack of notebooks from your open suitcase, flipping one open. The contents contain pages filled with writing and sketches, color hastily scribbled on. Might as well study…
Reading the neatly printed notes, you just can’t focus, eventually just lying on the mattress, notebook resting flatly on your chest.
The room seems so cold and unfamiliar, you had already memorized every inch of it after arriving. The lights that shined a little too brightly, the constant clatter of motion coming from outside, the barren walls a plain, blinding white.
At your dorm, the entire room was filled with vivid colors and motivational quotes scribbled onto neon post-it notes. That seemed very far away right now. Your mind begins to wander, and you wonder what your friends are doing at school, probably working on some project you would not be able to help with.
No one in your family had been able to leave but you. They all lived in Wuhan, yet you had already been on your way to America before they had been cut off. You and many others were sent to quarantine, unable to go home. Two weeks had just come to an end, and you were looking forward to getting back to college–to see your friends and professors. Still, you were afraid for your family; you had wanted to stay, but they wanted you to continue your studies.
Rolling onto your side, you stare out the window... faint light shines through the glass, the sun setting in the distance. Closing your eyes for a moment, you sit up, the notebook sliding onto your lap. Gently placing it back into your suitcase, you stretch and walk to the sink. Splashing water onto your face sends a shock into your system, waking you up more. With a sigh, you sink back onto the bed, running a hand through your ruffled hair.
A sudden knock startles you, and you scramble to stand up. You’re to leave soon. With a smile appearing on your face, you pack everything back into your suitcase, zipping it up. Pulling on a face mask, you are prepared. Ready to get back home and away from the chaos of this virus and the plain room that drove you to the edge.