CHAPTER 3

The room was quite small—just a compact space with a bed, a table, and a little wardrobe. I placed my bag inside the wardrobe, took out my camera, and kept it on the table. Then I sat on the bed, checked my phone, plugged in my laptop, and somehow, without realizing it, afternoon turned into evening.

It was summer, so taking a shower felt necessary. I grabbed my clothes and headed toward the upper floor. The stairs were filthy—looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in ages. It was pretty dark upstairs too. I looked around for the bathroom; the light was on, and I could hear the sound of running water.

As I got closer, I saw someone standing under the shower.

It was a public-style bathroom—like the ones in hostels.

“So I have to share the bathroom too…” I muttered under my breath, feeling annoyed.

What kind of place was this? So old… so worn down.

The guy under the shower turned to look at me. His eyes were intense, almost like he was staring right through me. He looked calm… older than me… and strong—his body was well-built, like someone who regularly hit the gym.

He turned off the shower and stepped out, wearing only a towel around his waist. Another towel was in his hand, which he used to dry his head. I just stood there, staring at him without realizing it. He wiped his face in front of the mirror, then looked at me and said softly,

"Your turn."

I walked toward the shower, but undressing in front of a stranger felt awkward. Still, I didn’t want him to know I was uncomfortable.

So, pretending to be confident, I took off my clothes and, in a deliberately louder voice, said, “Which room are you in?”

But even I could tell—my voice sounded forced.

If he was smart, he’d know I was just trying to hide how nervous I really was.

He chuckled a little—maybe my childish act amused him. He turned toward me, and suddenly, I could feel my heartbeat getting faster.

I started applying soap on my body, trying not to make eye contact. But he… he kept looking at me. Not saying a word. Just watching—like he was trying to figure me out.

I cleared my throat a bit loudly—a habit I had whenever I felt uneasy or awkward. It was my subtle way of saying, “I’m uncomfortable… please don’t make it worse.”

That weird little sound was my silent signal.

My way of drawing a line without actually saying anything.

He folded his arms and said, “Room No. 5… just next to Number 4.”

I lathered shampoo into my hair and replied casually, “Oh, so you’re my neighbor then, sir.”

I said it with a light tone, trying to ease the atmosphere and be a bit friendly. Maybe he picked up on that too.

“Yesss… Room No. 4,” he repeated—calling me by my room number.

It felt a little strange… being referred to like that.

But still, I was kind of relieved.

At least there was someone here I could talk to.

Someone I might be able to ask about this place…

What really goes on here.

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