GÜVNES ONESHOTS 🥀

Regrets 🥀

Sitting in her cell, the days had blurred into months. Time seemed to stretch endlessly in prison, where the faces of women shifted like an ever-changing mosaic. Each woman, no matter her age or story, wore the weight of her circumstances in a unique way. Some gathered in small groups, their lips moving as they talked, but to Neslihan, their voices were a distant hum; silent like scenes from an old film. She could see them, but not hear them. Over time, she had grown skilled at reading more than just words. She had learned to read eyes.

It was the one thing this cold, hard place had taught her; how to look past the surface and into the soul of a person. The eyes never lied. They revealed the truths buried beneath forced smiles, heated arguments, or quiet moments of solitude. It was there, in their eyes, that she could see what words could not express. And through most of those women's eyes, she saw one emotion that bound them all; REGRET.

Regret lingered in every gaze, no matter what the mouth said. Whether they were laughing to mask the pain, quarreling out of frustration, or simply staring into the distance from the edge of their cot, their eyes betrayed them.

Regret was etched into every pair of eyes she met. Some regretted their crimes, others regretted the choices that had led them here. And then there were those who carried the burden of someone else's mistakes, paying a price for a life they hadn't chosen. But all of them, criminals or innocent, carried the same heavy look-regret, as thick as the prison walls themselves. It connected them, even when their stories were so vastly different.

A sudden ringtone pulled her from the depths of her thoughts, signaling it was time to eat. The sound echoed through the cold, silent halls, a harsh reminder of the rigid structure that ruled every hour of prison life.

Time here wasn't measured by clocks or sunlight but by the three distinct rings that marked each meal. Breakfast meant it was morning. Lunch came in the evening. And dinner arrived long after the sky had gone dark.

Yet, in prison, it always felt like night; shadowed and heavy, as if the walls themselves absorbed all the light, leaving nothing but blackness.

Rising from her bed, she moved out of habit, knowing all too well the consequences of missing a meal. She had made that mistake once before, oversleeping and paying the price with a day of gnawing hunger.

It wasn't that the food was worth eating-everything here tasted as bland and joyless as the days themselves-but in this place, choice was a luxury she no longer had. Like everything else in prison, the meals were a necessity, a routine she couldn't afford to break. So, she forced herself to stand, to follow the call of the bell, though every step felt heavy, weighed down by the endless sameness of it all.

Once she finished her meal-a tasteless mound of mashed potatoes and a piece of rock-hard bread-she forced herself to place the plate where it belonged. Every bite had been a struggle, but hunger left her with little choice.

Without wasting time, she hurried toward the showers, hoping to beat the rush before the rest of the prisoners arrived. The last thing she needed was another argument about who would shower first. Today, she wasn't in the mood for the petty fights that broke out over the smallest things.

Her quick steps were interrupted by a voice that stopped her in her tracks.

- "Number 320?"

She swallowed a sigh. Even now, her name had been stripped away. The one thing that could remind them of their humanity-their names-had been replaced with cold, impersonal numbers. As if being locked away wasn't enough, they were reduced to a sequence, a number that fit neatly into the prison system, erasing who they had been before.