Amos wasn't just the quiet one on the top bunk, he was the soul of the group in a way. The kind of friend who didn't need to be loud to leave a mark. While others were sneaking phones and breaking rules, Amos was building worlds. With his words. With his stories. With his belief in you.
There was something different about Amos.
He didn't talk much during the day. He let the rest of us do the loud living, the laughing, the chaos. But at night,when everything slowed down and the fans hummed like lullabies,Amos came alive.
From his top bunk, he'd narrate stories he wrote himself.E.g. She tempted the devil and Vamwolf wars.
Not your average "once upon a time" stuff. No, Amos wrote real stories. Ones where the heroes were flawed, the villains made sense, and the endings didn't always tie up neatly. He'd whisper the plots down to me like secrets, his voice low, steady, and filled with purpose.
"Bro," I'd say halfway through, "did you actually write this?"
And he'd just chuckle. "Yeah. Thought of it during chemistry."
He had notebooks full of ideas. Plot twists. Characters with strange names and deeper meanings. He said writing made him feel in control, like even if the real world was messy, at least his stories could make sense.
But what mattered more?
He believed in mine.
I remember one night, I was lying there, low-key overthinking everything;school pressure, life pressure and Amos just dropped a line mid-story and paused.
"You should write, you know," he said.
I turned over. "Me?"
"Yeah. You've got too many stories to just keep them in your head."
That was it.
No dramatic speech. No fanfare. Just belief, raw and simple. The kind that sticks.
Amos didn't just tell stories. He gave them. He planted them in you like seeds and watched quietly as they grew, never needing credit for the roots.
In a dorm full of noise, he was the quietest one.
But somehow... the one who made the most impact.