There is no sound but the constant air coming out from the vent. What do we call these? A woosh of air? A swoosh? Other than that, the couches and table sit numbly around the common room, silent and unmoving in their companionship.
As I sit here now I wonder what is it about this room that makes me frequent it – almost eager to return to it. And why is it that when others are occupying it it makes me self-conscious to even enter and use the microwave. Surely it’s a common room and everyone’s entitled to it. Then again, it’s just an unspoken rule. If someone came earlier to study, no one else should break the peace.
It’s like a form of escapism, returning to this quiet room. I never really know if I actually like to come here and be alone, or is it now a mere habit I picked up. All I know is that I don’t have to think when I’m here. I’m existing in a different place.
