Writers 
It was around 1 a.m. when I realized I was no longer studying. I was fighting for my life.
I had been lying on my bed with my book open, trying to read one more page before sleeping. Just one more page, that was the plan. Then I heard it.
Bzzzzzzzz.
I ignored it. It came again.
Bzzzzzzzz.
I pulled the sheet over my head.
Silence.
I relaxed.
Then something landed on my forehead.
I slapped myself, there was nothing.
“Jesus.”
I sat up. At this point, I was convinced that there was only one mosquito.
I was wrong. Very wrong.
I switched on my phone torch and started looking around the room.
Nothing.
I checked the wall.
Nothing.
The ceiling.
Nothing.
The curtain.
Nothing.
I even looked underneath my bed, although I wasn't entirely sure what I expected to find there.
I returned to my bed.
Bzzzzzz.
“Are you serious?”
I started laughing. There I was, in the middle of the night, arguing with an insect that was approximately the size of a grain of rice.
I decided to ignore it.
Five minutes later, it landed somewhere around my ear.
I jumped out of bed.
“Okay. That's enough.”
I picked up my phone and started searching for it again.
Still nothing.
At that point, I began wondering if I was imagining the mosquito.
Maybe I was simply tired.
Maybe the buzzing was in my head.
Then it flew directly across my face.
I froze.
“Oh, so you're real.”
I grabbed my pillow.
The mosquito disappeared.
I stood there with the pillow raised above my head like I was preparing for battle.
Nothing.
I lowered it.
Bzzzzzz.
I raised it again.
Nothing.
This continued for several minutes.
Eventually, I heard a door open in the corridor, then footsteps.
Then somebody whispered, “Are you awake?”
I opened my door.
My neighbour was standing there with her wrapper tied around her chest and her phone in her hand.
“Please, do you have mosquito spray?”
I stared at her, “You too?”
She nodded.
“Mine are too much.”
I laughed.
“Come inside.”
She entered and immediately started looking around.
“Where is the spray?”
“I don't have any.”
She stopped.
“You called me inside for what?”
“I thought you had some.”
She stared at me. Then we both started laughing.
Within minutes, we were sitting on my bed discussing mosquitoes like two military commanders planning an operation.
She said she had been trying to sleep for almost an hour.
I told her I had been trying to read. She looked at my open book.
“You're still reading?”
“I was.”
“At 1 a.m.?”
“I was trying.”
She shook her head.
“Forget it. The mosquitoes have decided you're done for today.”
I wanted to argue. Then one flew past my face. I closed my book.
“Okay. Maybe you're right.”
We started discussing possible solutions. She suggested closing the windows. I said the room would become too hot. I suggested turning off the light. She said she couldn't sleep in complete darkness. We tried switching off the light anyway.
Within thirty seconds: “Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
“It's on me!”
“Where?”
“Here!”
I turned on my phone torch.
Nothing.
We both started laughing again.
Then she slapped her own leg, “I got one!”
“You killed it?”
“I think so.”
“Check.”
She looked at her palm.
There was nothing.
She stared at it.
“It escaped.”
I nearly fell off the bed laughing. Eventually, she went back to her room. I climbed into bed and pulled the sheet over myself. For about ten peaceful seconds, there was silence.
Then, Bzzzzzzzz.
I stared into the darkness.
“You know what?”
The mosquito buzzed again.
“I've read enough.”
It buzzed.
“Goodnight.”
I woke up the next morning with three new mosquito bites.
I looked at them. Then looked around the room.
The mosquito was nowhere to be found.
Of course.
It had disappeared after winning.
I got up, got ready for class and walked out of the room looking like someone who had spent the night fighting an invisible enemy.
My neighbour saw me in the corridor. She looked at my face. Then started laughing.
“You too?”
I nodded.
She lifted her arm, five mosquito bites.
That is one thing nobody tells you about hostel life. You come to school expecting to worry about lectures, tests, assignments and deadlines.
Nobody tells you that sometimes, at 1 a.m., your biggest academic obstacle will be a mosquito that refuses to let you finish one chapter.