Hayat woke up feeling like a saved draft—unfinished and slightly corrupted.
He didn't move.He just lay there, eyes half-open, wondering if being conscious was worth the effort today.
The first thought that arrived wasn't "Good morning."It was:
"What if my entire life is just filler episodes?"
A valid question.
Nothing major had happened in months, maybe years.No grand success.No magical moment.Just small survival tasks.
He sat up slowly, joints cracking like they were judging him.
THE MORNING PHILOSOPHY SESSION (UNINTENTIONAL)
While brushing his teeth, Hayat stared at his reflection like he was staring at someone he recognized but wasn't exactly proud of.
His brain whispered:
"One day you will die.One day this face won't exist.One day everything you ever did will be forgotten.So what are you even brushing for?"
He spat out foam and said out loud:
"Bro… can I PLEASE finish morning hygiene before getting demolished by the universe?"
But the thoughts kept coming.
He thought about how his parents created him—either intentionally or "oops," who knows.But he existed now.And existence required maintenance.Which felt rude.
He washed his face and looked at the dripping water falling into the sink.
For a moment, he wondered:
"If the universe is infinite, does that mean infinite versions of me are also brushing their teeth and suffering tonight?"
He hoped at least one of them was rich.
THE BREAKFAST EXISTENTIAL CRISIS
He ate two bananas again because routine was comforting, even when the routine was depressing.
While peeling the banana, the thought hit:
"This fruit took months to grow…traveled hundreds of kilometers…went through farming, shipping, storing…just so I can sit here and question life while chewing it?"
He blinked.Bit it anyway.
Existence was absurd.Might as well eat.
THE WALK WHERE HE OVERTHINKS SO HARD HE ALMOST ASCENDS
While walking to work, every step triggered a memory or a fear.
Left foot:"Remember that one mistake you made five years ago? Let's analyze it again."
Right foot:"You will lose everyone you love someday."
Left:"You're not doing enough with your life."
Right:"But also doing anything is pointless because entropy wins."
It was exhausting.
Not physically.Spiritually.
He saw a dog sleeping under a tea stall and felt jealous.Dogs didn't have to worry about purpose, destiny, or whether they made the right decisions.
"Lucky fluffy idiot," he muttered.
THE WORKDAY WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS BUT HIS BRAIN MAKES IT WORSE
At work, tasks were simple.
They didn't require thought.They barely required consciousness.
But inside, his brain was running like a GPU under stress.
He stared at his computer screen and wondered:
"If I suddenly disappeared, would anything change?Would the world adjust in 5 seconds?5 days?Would anyone care in 5 years?"
It wasn't self-pity.It was pure curiosity.
Existential science.
Someone behind him sneezed loudly.
It scared him and broke the spiral.
But only for four seconds.
Then he was back at it:
"What if I'm not meant for anything great?What if coincidence is the only thing that will ever help me?What if effort doesn't matter as much as timing?"
He wasn't saying it sadly.Just… academically.
Like he was writing an inner research paper titled:"Life Makes No Sense and I'm Just Observing It."
THE EVENING THOUGHT FLOOD
On the way home, Hayat walked slowly, letting the night air distract him.But distraction never lasted.
The streetlights looked dim and warm.
He wondered:
"Every light eventually burns out.Humans too.Maybe we're just… organic bulbs?"
He laughed a little.A tired sound.
He thought of his parents—how one day they wouldn't exist.And that thought alone squeezed his chest.
He hated that time only moved forward.No pause button.No rewind.Just acceleration toward endings.
He reached his room, sat on the bed, and stared at his hands.
These hands that worked, failed, survived, failed again, reached out, pulled back, held onto things, let go of others…
And someday, even they would be dust.
"What's the point of all this?"The classic question.
And the same answer arrived:
"…I don't know.But I'm here.And I guess I have to keep going."
Not because he believed in destiny.Not because life was beautiful.Not because he had hope.
But because stopping wasn't an option.
Existence was a weird contract—no signature, no agreement, but you still had to follow the terms.
He lay down.
Eyes tired.Mind louder than necessary.
And just as he began to drift toward sleep, he whispered:
"If there's a reason, I hope I find it.If there's none, I hope I create one.If neither happens… at least let tomorrow be less confusing."
Sleep took him.
Not because he was at peace—but because his brain finally ran out of battery.