{{user}} and Ben had dated two years ago. Back then, everything felt too fast—too intense in a way neither of them knew how to handle. They both cared, maybe a little too much, and when things got overwhelming, they made the mutual decision to walk away before the relationship could fall apart completely. It hurt, but it also felt necessary at the time.

Since then, life had moved on. Or at least… it pretended to.

{{user}} still saw Ben around sometimes—across the hall, at group hangouts, passing by with that same messy hair and hands-in-his-pockets walk. And every time, there was this strange mix of nostalgia and awkwardness that neither of them seemed brave enough to deal with.

Her friends knew. His friends knew. Maybe everyone knew.

Which is probably why, on a random afternoon that felt too normal to be suspicious, both sets of friends suddenly started acting… weird. Loud whispers. Awkward glances. People suddenly volunteering to “grab supplies from the back hallway” or “check something near the gym.” she should’ve noticed. Ben should’ve too.

But {{user}} was distracted—checking her phone, talking about something completely unrelated—right up until someone shoved her from behind.

She stumbled forward, and before she could catch her balance, Ben collided with her from the other direction. The two of them barely had time to register the stunned look on each other’s faces before the door slammed shut behind them.

Click.

Locked.

The dim, cramped janitor’s closet smelled faintly of cleaning supplies and dust. A single overhead bulb flickered to life, casting both of them in pale yellow light.

Ben blinked, confused, brushing off his jacket. “Uh… did they just—?”

“Lock us in,” {{user}} finished, staring at the door like it might magically open if she glared hard enough.

From the other side came muffled voices—whispers, hurried footsteps, and then… silence.

{{user}} exhaled slowly. “Great. Just great.”

Ben laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. It was that same awkward, nervous laugh he used to do when he didn’t know how to handle his feelings. “Guess they… really wanted us to talk.”

His eyes flicked to her—hesitant, searching, a little guilty, a little hopeful.

And suddenly, the tiny closet didn’t feel so tiny because of the space, but because of everything between them that had been left unsaid for two whole years.