My Roommate Counted My Garri. I Counted His Rice. We Haven't Spoken Since.

It started small. My roommate Chidi finished the last of the garri on Sunday night and didn't bother to replace it. Monday morning I woke up hungry, opened the bucket, saw the bottom of the bucket staring back at me like an insult. I said nothing. I just went to class with empty stomach and full annoyance.

By Wednesday I caught myself measuring out exactly two cups of rice from his own bag, the one he thinks I don't know about. Two cups. Not three. I even wrote the amount in my phone notes like an accountant. That was when I knew something had shifted between us. We went from sharing everything to calculating everything. In a hostel where two guys split rent and fuel and sometimes even a plate of beans, trust is the only currency that matters. Once you start counting, you've already lost.

We still greet. We still say good morning. But there's a coldness now that no amount of small talk can thaw. I don't know if it's the hunger talking or if we were always going to end up here. Have you ever lived with someone you used to call brother and now you just call roommate?