I came home after a twelve-hour shift at the clinic, my scrubs sticking to my back, my hair pulled loose from the messy bun I’d tied that morning. The plan was simple: leftover pad thai, a long shower, and at least four hours of uninterrupted sleep. But the moment I opened the door, my nose twitched. It wasn’t just the usual mix of herbal teas and incense my roommate, Maelys, loved. No, this was sharp. Acrid. Burnt.
Burnt plastic.
I froze.
The scent wasn’t overpowering—more like a trace left after the real danger had already passed. But it was enough to make the little warning lights in my brain go off. I shut the door behind me and dropped my bag, heart thudding. My eyes swept the apartment, and sure enough, there it was: the surge protector by the couch was blackened, warped around the edges like it had been licked by flames. One of the cube adapters plugged into it had partially melted, its plastic now fused to the strip like wax.
“Jesus,” I whispered, kneeling carefully. The thing still radiated warmth.
I didn’t want to touch it, but I also didn’t want to leave it as it was. I unplugged each cord slowly, half-expecting a spark or jolt. Nothing happened, thank God. Still, my hands were trembling by the time I stood up and called out.
“Maelys?”
She popped her head out of her room, barefoot, a neon green smoothie in one hand, her hair in a high ponytail like she’d just finished a yoga session. “Oh, hey! Yeah, I smelled that earlier. Weird, right?”
“Weird?” I blinked. “It could’ve burned the whole apartment down!”
She tilted her head like a confused golden retriever. “But it didn’t.”
Apparently, she’d ordered some cheap charger off a sketchy website because “Apple’s too greedy,” and left it charging both her phone and her tablet overnight. On a plastic strip. Next to a wooden shelf covered in old newspapers and tissue paper for her collage projects.
I stared at her. “Do you understand how serious this could’ve been?”
“Relax,” she said, sipping. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not like the place actually caught fire.”
I took photos of everything and sent them to our landlord, just in case. I ordered a new surge protector with an automatic shut-off function, but honestly, I didn’t trust her to use even that safely. That night, I lay in bed reading local tenant laws, trying to figure out if a roommate’s sheer recklessness could justify breaking a lease.
The thing is, this wasn’t the first time.
There was the time she left the gas stove on for “just a minute” and forgot about it for two hours. Or the time she microwaved foil because she thought it “looked pretty.” I was always the one cleaning up, replacing things, apologizing to the landlord.
But this was different. This was almost catastrophic.
The next morning, I sat across from her at our tiny kitchen table, watching her eat avocado toast like nothing happened. I couldn’t keep quiet.
“I’m serious about the charger thing,” I said. “You can’t use unregulated crap and leave it unattended. This is our home, not a bonfire waiting to happen.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re acting like I committed arson.”
“You almost did, Maelys!”
The conversation didn’t go anywhere. She brushed me off again, and we both left for work in silence. I spent the whole day thinking about how a roommate—someone I used to laugh with, share late-night snacks with, complain about life with—could so easily dismiss something that endangered us both.
By Friday, I’d made a decision. I started packing—not everything, just the important stuff. Documents. Electronics. Clothes I actually wore. I didn’t have a new place yet, but I figured I could crash at a friend’s place temporarily if I needed to.
Then something strange happened.
I came home early that night and found her crying.
She was curled up on the couch, the same couch that almost went up in flames, her eyes red and puffy. She looked up at me, startled, like she hadn’t expected me to be home.
“You okay?” I asked carefully.
She sniffled. “My brother… he was in a fire. Five years ago. Lost his apartment. I guess I blocked it out, or—I don’t know. But when I saw the charger this week, it reminded me of it. That’s why I acted like it was nothing. I didn’t know how to deal.”
I stood there, unsure of what to say. I’d been so angry. So ready to storm out and never look back. But this—this made things complicated.
“I wish you’d told me,” I said softly.
“I was embarrassed,” she admitted. “It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” I said. “But you can’t just pretend like stuff doesn’t matter when it scares you. That doesn’t make it go away. It makes it worse—for both of us.”
She nodded, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “I’ll replace the surge protector. I’ll get rid of all the junk chargers. I swear.”
We talked for hours that night. About her brother, about fear, about how she’d felt like I was always judging her, and how I’d felt like I was always cleaning up after her. It wasn’t a perfect fix—nothing is—but it was honest. And maybe that was the first real conversation we’d had in months.
A week later, she surprised me.
I came home to a clean apartment, new power strips, labeled drawers for electronics, and even a printed list of “Safe Charging Practices” taped above her desk like a school project. She grinned when I walked in.
“I Googled everything. You’d be proud.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re such a nerd.”
“Takes one to know one.”
We weren’t magically best friends again, and I still read every plug and wire like it was a potential threat, but the shift was real. She wasn’t just dismissing me anymore—she was trying. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe we could actually survive this lease.
So no, I didn’t break the lease. I didn’t run. I stayed.
Because sometimes, the people who frustrate you the most are also the ones carrying around stories you’ve never heard—and when they finally trust you with them, it changes everything.
Have you ever discovered something surprising about someone after they nearly set your life on fire?
If this made you think of someone, or if you’ve ever had a crazy roommate story, hit like, drop a comment, and don’t forget to share—it helps others find this too.
