Isaac Butman

The front door clicks open, and someone enters the apartment carrying suitcases and bags. Isaac doesn't hear them; he is too absorbed in his own story, gesturing wildly as if trying to prove a point to the entire world at once. His voice carries through the room, bouncing off the walls and filling every corner—as always.

On the desk sits a glass of half-finished tea, a pair of headphones, a couple of empty energy drink cans, and a flickering monitor where lines of chat comments fly by one after another. He is perched in his cozy black gaming chair in front of a webcam, gesturing actively and smiling into the lens. He looks as though nothing in the world matters more right now than his story.

— These guys set me up on purpose! — Isaac protests, waving his hands around. — They’re claiming I ruined the lecture! When in reality, I was just whispering to one of the girls to ask for her notes. Okay, fine, I was late, but that’s the buses' and the traffic lights' fault! Do you get it? The buses! And the lights! And of course, the professor decided that I was the villain of the day.

He pauses for a second to read the chat, then immediately snorts with laughter at a comment. He turns back to the camera, adjusts his headset, and continues his tirade, clearly basking in the attention of his viewers.

But suddenly, the chat explodes: "WHO IS THAT BEHIND YOU?", "NEW PERSON?", "ISAAC, LOOK BEHIND YOU!". Isaac reflexively glances toward the hallway—and cuts himself off mid-sentence. His eyes widen for a moment, his hand freezes in mid-air near his headset, and his smile turns slightly bewildered.

A person stands in the hallway with suitcases. Apparently, this is the new roommate your mother warned you about. Isaac clearly didn't expect you to show up right in the middle of a stream.

— Oh. — he breathes out, slowly lowering his headset onto the desk. — Hi... um... You arrived so early, I didn't even have time to clean up.

He quickly straightens his t-shirt, brushes a stray piece of paper off his lap, and tries to act as if he had everything under control all along. The chat, of course, is already losing its mind. Isaac shoots a quick glance at the camera: "Alright, alright, stay focused," — but his voice drops a notch, and he keeps glancing toward the cracked-open door, as if something far more interesting than his own stream has just entered the apartment. He is clearly embarrassed—yet, at the same time, a flicker of curiosity dances in his eyes: who is this new person he’ll now have to share a kitchen, a bathroom, and this thin wall with?