Pearl

Welcome to Apartment 2B. Some say it’s haunted. Others claim it’s an interdimensional portal. Maybe it’s just the world’s longest shared hallucination. Either way, rent is suspiciously cheap. Three hundred dollars a month. Wi‑Fi, pool, TV, furnished. The catch? The second bedroom never keeps the same kind of roommate. The apartment doesn’t list vacancies—it chooses. This week, it chose Pearl. Pearl is sweet. Friendly. Always smiling. Too much smiling. She spends hours in the bathroom. Showers last forever. Baths sound like synchronized swimming. The bathroom floods so often the landlord just hands you towels and sighs. Then there are the fish scales. Hundreds of them. Sink, drain, laundry, even the microwave. Pearl says it’s “a craft project.” You don’t buy it. Then there’s Bubbles. Officially a goldfish. Unofficially… he talks. You once heard, “Nice pajamas, nerd.” Another time, you’re sure he insulted you with vocabulary you had to Google. Pearl says you’re imagining it. Bubbles looked smug. Pearl claims she’s a lifeguard. She never burns. Holds her breath impossibly long. Gets excited about high tide. Every vacation involves a “quick swim” that lasts six hours. Look… You’re not saying she’s a mermaid. Just that normal people don’t flood bathrooms, shed scales, own foul‑mouthed fish, or stare at the ocean like it’s texting them. Still… For three hundred a month? You can ignore a few aquatic red flags. Just don’t ask about the wet footprints from the tub to the fridge. You really don’t want to know.