Hayat woke up feeling older than he actually was.
Not physically—his body was fine, mostly.It was his mind that felt wrinkled.Like his thoughts had aged faster than his skin.
He sat up slowly, like a man rising from a lifetime instead of a mattress, and stared at the pale light leaking through the curtain.
The first thought was immediate, brutal, and familiar:
"Time is killing me quietly."
A good morning greeting from the universe.
MORNING: AGING IN REAL TIME
While brushing his teeth, he watched the foam gather at the edges of his lips and thought:
"One day I won't have teeth.One day this face will sag.One day I'll look in this mirror and not recognize the person staring back."
He touched the side of his jaw, almost expecting to feel age already sitting there waiting like rent.
It wasn't there yet.
But the awareness of its arrival was.
Another thought followed, darker:
"Everyone older than me says life passes faster with time.That means I'm already in the fast lane without noticing."
He rinsed his mouth and sighed so hard even the mirror fogged up.
BREAKFAST: THE BANANA THAT REMINDED HIM OF BEING FORGOTTEN
He sat with his usual banana.
Routine was comforting.But also terrifying.
He held the banana in his hand and stared at it too long—long enough to question reality again.
"This fruit will be forgotten.Just like the tree it came from.Just like me.Everything I ever do will disappear someday."
He took a bite.
"Maybe we're not meant to leave anything permanent.Maybe we're just meant to pass through quietly."
His brain loved these morning monologues.His heart? Not so much.
THE WALK: FEAR OF ENDINGS
On his way to work, he saw an old man walking slowly with a cane.The man wasn't struggling—just… existing carefully.
And Hayat felt something cold slide through him.
A future version of himself.A preview he didn't want, but couldn't look away from.
"I will get old.I will slow down.My body will betray me.My strength will fade.My parents will leave this world before me.I'll be left to deal with their memories,their absence,their silence."
He swallowed, suddenly short of breath.
Most people feared failure.Hayat feared endings.
THE WORKDAY: NOTHING LASTS, NOT EVEN ROUTINE
Work was slow.The kind of slow that makes the world feel paused but your thoughts feel fast-forwarded.
He sat at his desk, staring at the screen, but thinking about death—not in a dramatic way, just as a logical part of human planning.
"I'm going to disappear one day.What's the point of all this effort?Why am I pretending life is some long-term project when it's actually a countdown?"
He clicked through files mindlessly.
"Millions lived before me.Millions died.Nobody remembers them.Soon nobody will remember me either."
He rubbed his temples.
The fluorescent light above flickered, and he thought:
"Even the electricity looks tired.Same."
LUNCH: LONELINESS TASTES LIKE RICE
He ate alone.He didn't mind.He didn't love it.It was just how things always were.
But today, the loneliness felt… heavier.
Like it sat in the chair next to him.
While chewing, he wondered:
"Will I grow old alone?Will my life be a long series of empty lunches and quiet dinners?Will I ever love someone?Will someone ever look at me and think,'I want him to be mine'?"
He didn't hate himself—he just doubted the universe's interest in giving him that kind of miracle.
He imagined growing old with no one to share stories with.No one to laugh with.No one to argue with.No one to hold.
Just years dissolving into years.
It scared him silently.
EVENING: REALIZING HE'S BECOMING HIS OWN GHOST
On the walk home, the sky looked huge and empty.The kind of sky that makes you feel like a small disposable detail in a gigantic painting.
He felt it deeply.
"I'm not the main character of anything.I'm not even a side character.I'm background.A blurry figure in someone else's story."
He wondered if anyone ever looked at him long enough to remember him the next day.
He doubted it.
He reached home, opened the door, and felt the familiar silence greet him like a loyal pet.
Lonely, but loyal.
NIGHT: THE FINAL EXISTENTIAL DESCENT
Lying in the dark, he stared at the ceiling and whispered into the emptiness:
"Why do I exist?Why was I born?What purpose am I supposed to serve before I disappear?"
No answer.The universe was bad at customer service.
His thoughts deepened:
"If everything ends…then is living just an act of delaying the inevitable?Is survival just accepting the slow heartbreak of time?"
He closed his eyes.
But the thoughts kept going.
"Why wasn't I born in another time?Another life?Another world?Why this one?Why this body?Why these people?Why these fears?"
He turned onto his side.
"If life really has no meaning,why do we keep searching for one?"
He exhaled slowly.
The room felt too heavy, too quiet, too real.
Finally, he whispered the thought that scared him the most:
"What if I never figure out who I am supposed to be?"
His eyes felt hot, but no tears came.
Sleep arrived eventually, the way it always did—not because he was calm,but because exhaustion finally defeated philosophy.
Tomorrow, he would wake up again.Not with joy.Not with hope.
But because that's what humans do.
They wake up.They survive another day.And somehow, that counts for something.