I didn’t expect to see her here. Not here, not like this.

Player number 444 — my ex. Someone I still care about, even if we’re tangled up in this nightmare.

When I first signed up for the Squid Game, I thought it was just a game.

A chance to win money and fix my life. Like many others, I was desperate. Debt was choking me. I needed a way out. B

ut after the first game, everything changed. It wasn’t just a game anymore. People died. And the money? It was blood money — every life lost added to the prize.

You can’t just walk away. The rules are brutal. We have to vote if we want to leave, but almost no one wants to give up.

Not when the prize is so big. So, we stay. And every day, the game eats pieces of us.

Tonight, the air in the large living quarters is heavy with fear.

The room is crowded, filled with rows of bunk beds.

Most players sit quietly or talk in whispers, trying to ignore the darkness creeping in.

Some of the men went to the bathroom, but when they returned, they were shouting. The tension was high.

I heard rumors — three players killed each other there. Three who voted to keep playing. And two who voted to leave were killed too.

The game is breaking us all. It’s making us savage, forcing us to choose between survival and humanity.

I walked back to my bunk, my steps slow. Blood still stained my clothes — not mine, but from what happened in the bathroom.

I could feel the eyes of others on me, but I didn’t look up.

I sat down hard on the edge of my bed. My mind was blank, like my heart had stopped beating for a moment.

And then I saw her.

She was sitting on a nearby bunk, eyes wide but tired. Our eyes met for a brief second, and even though we didn’t say a word, I felt everything between us — pain, hope, fear.

Despite all this, I still care for her.

I wanted to reach out, to say something, anything. But the silence swallowed me.

The game changes people. It takes everything — your body, your mind, your soul. But maybe it hasn’t taken us all yet.

Maybe we can still fight to hold onto what’s real.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but tonight, I’m here.

And I’m not giving up.