Hayat woke up feeling like he had respawned in the wrong save file.
He didn't move immediately—just stared at the faint cracks in the ceiling, wondering why they somehow looked more stable than his mental state.
There was a moment, a quiet one, where the first thought of the day hovered above him like a disappointed cloud:
"Another day of being alive.Did I ask for this?"
He rubbed his eyes.
No, he definitely never checked the box that said "I agree to the terms and conditions of existence."
But here he was.
MORNING: A LONELY TOOTHBRUSH AND TOO MANY THOUGHTS
While brushing his teeth, Hayat found himself staring at the mirror longer than necessary.
His own reflection looked like someone who was pretending to be okay just to avoid paperwork.
Then came the thought:
"I'm not in a relationship because…"
He tried to finish the sentence.
Many answers surfaced.
"Because I'm not stable enough."
"Because I don't have time."
"Because I don't want to drag someone else into this existential mess."
"Because honestly, who would even want to deal with my 3AM philosophical breakdowns?"
But the real answer hit harder:
"Because I'm scared."
Scared of loss.Scared of attachment.Scared that someday he'd love someone and then watch time steal them away like it steals everything else.
He rinsed his mouth and thought:
"What's the point of loving if I'll lose them anyway?"
A dangerous question.But he had it every day.
And yet deep inside, he also carried a tiny desire—a quiet wish to have someone sit beside him while he overthinks the universe.Someone who'd say, "Same, bro," and mean it.
But he shrugged the thought away.Life was already complicated.Adding romance would be like adding another tab to a browser that was already crashing.
BREAKFAST: EXISTENCE IN A BANANA
Hayat peeled a banana and stared at it.
His brain was on fire again:
"Everything alive eats something else to stay alive.Isn't that terrifying?I have to consume another living thing to keep functioning.Is survival not basically polite cannibalism?"
He shook his head.
Two bites later:
"Even food becomes part of my body.If I vanish someday, all this effort of this banana growing was… pointless?"
Then he stuffed the last bite in his mouth because if he thought any harder, he'd never eat again.
THE WALK: A MINI EXISTENTIAL THESIS
The world around him moved normally.
Cars honking.Street vendors yelling.People complaining.Life going on.
But inside Hayat, the universe was having an earthquake.
His thoughts wandered to time.
"Every step I take moves me closer to death.Every breath is one less.Every moment is an irreversible subtraction.And yet I'm supposed to pretend everything is fine?"
He kicked a pebble.
It bounced, hit a dog, the dog looked offended.
Hayat apologized even though he knew the dog didn't understand English.Or existential dread.
Lucky animal.
No taxes.No heartbreak.No crises about meaning.
"Imagine being so free," he murmured.
THE WORKDAY WHERE EXISTENCE FEELS LIKE A GLITCH
Work was painfully normal.
Documents.Meetings.Emails.Small talk.
The kind of day where nothing mattering felt more obvious.
At one point he stared at an excel sheet and thought:
"All these numbers…telling me what to do…dictating my salary…but someday none of this will exist.This building.This company.This city.Even the planet…"
He almost spiraled into the heat death of the universe, but lunch break arrived, interrupting him like a badly-timed ad.
He ate quietly.He wasn't hungry, but eating was a biological obligation.
His brain whispered:
"If even my eating is just maintenance, then what part of life is actually 'living'?"
He didn't know.
THE EVENING: THE LONELINESS OF NOT HAVING ANYONE TO SHARE NOTHING WITH
On his way home, he saw a couple laughing on a bike.
Not romantic movie-perfect laughing.Just normal life laughter.
He felt something twist inside him—not jealousy, but a tired realization:
"People are made to connect.So why am I here walking alone every day?"
Then came the deeper, sharper thought:
"If I died tomorrow, there is no one who would say,'I knew his heart completely.'I've never given anyone that chance."
He didn't cry.He wasn't the crying type.
But he did feel a quiet ache inside—like the soul equivalent of a sprained ankle.
NIGHT: THE FINAL EXISTENTIAL BOSS BATTLE (DAILY)
In bed, staring at the ceiling again, he whispered:
"What if life is just a waiting room?And no one knows what we're waiting for?"
He turned to the side.
The silence in his room felt loud.Too loud.
He wondered how many people pretend to be fine every day.How many laugh while hiding this same emptiness.How many carry this same quiet confusion.
And then he thought:
"Maybe the only point of being alive…is to keep feeling everything—even the confusion,even the fear,even the loneliness."
Not to understand life.Not to win.Just… to experience it.
He closed his eyes.
Tomorrow wouldn't be different.Tomorrow wouldn't be magical.Tomorrow wouldn't fix anything.
But he would wake up anyway.Because waking up, even reluctantly, was his rebellion against nothingness.
And that was enough for now.