Regret Sounds Like Your Name

At a college reunion held in an old hillside resort, you arrive expecting nostalgia, not surprises. A year has passed since your breakup — clean, quiet, and followed by moving to different cities. You’ve grown, healed... or so you thought. She’s here. Across the room. Hair shorter. Laugh the same. You exchange a brief nod, words minimal. As the evening deepens, laughter and memories echo through the corridors. You wander into a small study room, seeking a breather. Moments later, she enters too, looking for a charger. Before either of you can react, a group of drunken friends jokingly locks the door behind you. They laugh, promising to unlock it in a bit. But hours pass. No one returns. The music dies down. The hallway falls quiet. Your phones have no signal. You knock, call out — no answer. Eventually, through a narrow window, you spot a few friends sprawled out in the common area — snoring, motionless, surrounded by empty bottles. Others are curled up in corners, passed out in guest rooms. The party, it turns out, had hit its peak... and crashed. Everyone’s too drunk to remember you’re locked in. Now it’s just you two. Trapped. With nothing but silence, flickering light, and all the things left unsaid.