Streetlights reflected on the wet asphalt, either from rain that had just stopped or puddles that hadn't had the chance to evaporate all day. I walked between the shadows of towering buildings, my pace brisk but my heart hollow. On both sides of me, the world moved as usual. But it felt like I was walking outside of time.
My steps halted briefly at a red light.
Across the street, a couple laughed. The girl held her partner's hand while feeding him a small piece of street food. They weren't in a hurry. They had time. They… looked at each other. It felt foreign. I couldn't remember the last time someone truly saw me—beyond formalities or fleeting glances.
A few meters away, a small family sat on a park bench. A father cradled his sleeping child, while the mother smiled at them both. Warm. Peaceful. Like their world was wrapped in a bubble that shielded them from the harshness of the night. I looked at them, then turned away. Not out of envy. But because it hurt too much to keep watching.
Farther off, a group of young people laughed loudly, joking around without a care. One even slapped a friend on the back hard enough to make him pretend to fall, and they all laughed again. Their energy was different. Not drained, not weary. As if they still believed tomorrow could be better, without worrying about it today.
I don't remember the last time I laughed like that—laughed until I lost track of time, not just out of politeness. Even during short chats with coworkers, I have to measure my words, hold back complaints, and pretend to be strong. Because in this world, weakness is seen as a flaw, and burdens are considered personal business.
I just stood there, watching them live the way humans were meant to live. While I… was just walking home. No one was waiting. No one would greet me. No light conversation or hand to hold. Just an empty hallway, a bedroom door, and dim lights.
Where I live, silence is the daily soundtrack. I take off my shoes, hang my bag, run the water, then sit at the edge of the bed. I toss my phone beside the pillow—there's nothing I'm waiting for. Incoming messages are just work notifications, discount ads, or bill reminders. No "have you eaten?" or "tired today?" And I've long since stopped hoping for one.
Sometimes I ask myself: is life supposed to be like this? Full of routine, without support, without escape, without pause?
But who would answer?
Most people in this city live alone. Some by choice, many by circumstance. In a place like this, people don't seek luxury. They seek understanding. But understanding is rarer than gold. Most are too absorbed in their own world, and even if they listen, they may not understand. They might be near, but they're not truly present.
I once wanted to speak up. About the exhaustion, about the silence that hangs like fog in my chest. But the more I tried, the more I realized—not everyone wants to hear it, let alone understand. So I stayed quiet. And that silence became a wall.
I lay down on a thin mattress that somehow feels colder with each passing day. The ceiling is bare, blank. No decorations, no stories. Just like my life now.
I blink slowly. Seconds tick on. Outside, vehicles still pass. Sounds still echo. The world hasn't slept. But my eyes can no longer bear the weight.
I drift off, not because I want to… but because my body demands rest.
And like every night before, I hope there's someone out there who, upon reading this… will feel that they're not alone. That someone understands, even if only through words on a page.
This book isn't entirely about me. But it's a mirror—for those who have no place to lean on, for those who laugh in silence, for those who hope without a voice.
If you're one of them… then welcome. You've found your story. Our story.