MBTI high school

Chapter 57:

Chapter 57: The Broom Closet

It was a Friday evening. One of those when even the sky seemed to want to go home early. The high school hallways had emptied at record speed, leaving behind echoes of laughter, half-closed lockers, and students yelling in triumph: “Finally, the week is over! Freedom!” INFJ smiled at the memory. He could still hear ESTP shouting that while waving his jacket like a revolutionary flag. Typical of him.

But INFJ wasn’t free yet.

Like every Friday, he had a task to complete. Making sure the broom closet, that humble sanctuary of storage, was properly locked. He took that responsibility seriously. He had once even advised the janitor to place a pot of daisies next to the door, “to soften the entrance,” he’d said. Since then, the pot had always been there, faithfully standing, like a poetic touch amid the mops.

But tonight, something was off.

The flower pot… was gone. Or rather, it wasn’t in its usual spot. Something had changed, and INFJ felt it instantly. He approached slowly, driven by a strange intuition, and opened the broom closet door.

As soon as he stepped inside, a panicked voice cried:

— ???: NO, DON’T LET THE DOOR CLOSE!

But it was too late. The sharp click of the latch sent a chill down his spine. INFJ turned slowly… and saw ENTP. Sweaty. Pale. Curled up against the wall.

He understood immediately: the door only opened from the outside. They were trapped. Together. Him, INFJ… and ENTP.

A tear of despair nearly escaped him. Not because he was trapped in a tight space—he wasn’t claustrophobic. Not like his brother Christopher. But because, out of all the people he could’ve been trapped with… it had to be ENTP.

He would’ve preferred to be stuck with ESTP, who would’ve done pushups until someone opened the door. Or even ENTJ, who would’ve probably contacted three school authorities within five minutes to get it opened. Or ENFP, who would’ve turned the closet into an escape room. But ENTP? No. Living chaos. Constant mental noise. A walking debate.

INFJ sighed. He had to stay calm. He took a breath and turned toward ENTP, ready to counter whatever madness came his way.

But ENTP was in shock. Trembling, eyes vacant, murmuring incomprehensible words.

— INFJ: ENTP? Can you hear me?

INFJ slowly knelt down to his level.

No response. Just quick breathing. Sweat. Tremors. INFJ connected the dots quickly. He mentally listed the signs:

Rapid breathing,

Excessive sweating,

Vacant stare,

Repetitive speech,

Fetal posture…

He understood. ENTP was claustrophobic.

INFJ tried asking a few simple questions:

— INFJ: Do you want some water? Should I talk less? Is there anything I can do for you?

But ENTP only repeated in a broken voice:

— ENTP: Leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me…

INFJ slowly stood up. He understood he wouldn’t get any direct answers. He had to approach this differently. Observe. Think. Form hypotheses. He looked around. The closet was absurdly messy.