Number 30

When she opened my eyes, she was in a locked room.

“Do you remember anything?”

“…No. I don’t remember anything. How about you?”

“I don’t remember anything either.”

A blurry 30 written on the wall. A ringing in her ears.

“Did you wake up first?”

“I think so. Unless someone is pretending to be asleep.”

The man next to her took his eyes off the others and answered quietly. Then, he seemed about to say something, but closed his mouth and stared at her. The click-click of a lighter suddenly stopped.

“Why? Is there something on my face?”

She asked, puzzled, and the man finally opened his mouth after a long pause.

“I feel like we know each other.”