Only a dance with the devil himself could have provided us with this fortunate pairing.

In the realm of college life, there exists a magical phenomenon that often goes unnoticed—the art of random roommate matching. Two souls, seemingly unrelated, brought together by the serendipitous whims of a computer-generated program. Or is it a dance of fate? 

Our stories started alike: Last spring, as the looming prospect of college settled in, the decision to go random with roommate selection ignited a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Were we dooming ourselves to the feared “weird freshman year roommate” we had heard oh so many horror stories about? Was rejecting a chosen roommate setting us up for social failure with the loss of a built-in best friend? 

Yet, in the midst of this dread, there was an undeniable allure to the randomness. Choosing the path less traveled by opting for a random roommate seemed like a leap of faith, an act of embracing uncertainty with the hope that it would yield unforeseen connections and valuable lessons gleaned. 

August unfolded with the awkward charm of new beginnings as we embarked on our first FaceTime encounter, a virtual rendezvous, some might say. The air was thick with the anticipation of introductions and the unspoken question of who would be the brave soul to breach the subject of who was bringing what and shared responsibilities. In the midst of stilted exchanges and accidentally talking over each other, the seeds of a partnership were sown, setting the stage for a semester full of laughter and the blossoming of an unexpected friendship. 

These seeds finally sprouted come to NSOP, a week of repeated introductions and self-doubt. Move-in day had been rushed and hectic without a true moment to ourselves until the chaos had settled and the parents had left. We concluded our first nights with a roommate debrief and RA-initiated agreement, unsure of whether we would become friends but positive our dorm environment could, at least, be maintained.

At some point in time, one neither of us can pinpoint, a floodgate opened, releasing a torrent of genuine connection and an abandonment of pretenses. No longer bound by societal norms or the need to hold back, we reveled in each other’s weirdness and laid bare our idiosyncrasies, from peculiar habits to obscure interests, creating a sanctuary of authenticity. See below:

An absurd obsession with The Kissing Booth franchise. 

An agreed-upon contract of the dorm is a “No Strawberries Allowed” zone. Details unable to be disclosed upon.

Meowing. Again, no further explanation. Sorry.

Nightly belly-dancing TikToks that will never see the light of day (which one of us does more than the other). Also serenading (again, one more than the other). 

Not one, but TWO costume rat tails from Halloween hanging from the doorknob, sparked from a rat obsession that one of us has. Yes, you read that right. They’re considered to be good luck at this point. 

The Barnard Roommate Match: At first a gamble, then became the catalyst for a friendship that made our college experience richer and more unforgettable than we could have ever imagined.

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