The silence filling the room seemed to grow teeth.
For seven straight days, the four walls of the suite became my entire universe. A week of absolute, suffocating isolation. I was kept locked inside like a shameful secret or a prize specimen, completely cut off from the rest of the world. My only human interaction came in the form of a rotating shift of mute, phantom-like maids who entered three times a day to attend to my basic survival needs.
The routine never varied. The door would click, the lock turning with that sharp, metallic snap that had become the soundtrack to my descent into madness. A maid would slip inside, her eyes fixed firmly on the carpet, refusing to acknowledge my existence. With practiced, eerie efficiency, they would refresh the room - changing the sheets I barely
