The script arrived the next morning.
It didn't come with a greeting, nor an explanation. Just a single PDF attachment and a brief message.
Ten minutes. As discussed. Take your time.
— Park Min-jae
Ji-ho opened the file while the coffee machine hissed in the background, its mechanical sigh filling the narrow kitchen of his apartment. The place was sparsely furnished—bare walls, a low table, a mattress pushed against the corner. He had never felt the need to decorate. Temporary spaces did not deserve permanence.
The title appeared on the first page.
A Still Room
No tagline. No genre listed.
Ji-ho scrolled.
The opening scene was quiet. Almost aggressively so. A man sat alone in an empty apartment, surrounded by unpacked boxes. He listened to the sounds of his neighbors through thin walls—laughter, arguments, footsteps overhead. The man never spoke. The dialogue belonged entirely to people he could not see.
Ji-ho paused.
