Newt woke up to the same dim apartment, the same suffocating silence. It was another day, indistinguishable from the last. He shuffled out of bed, stretched just enough to ease the stiffness in his back, and went through the motions: brushing his teeth, boiling water for instant coffee, and staring blankly out the window as the city stirred to life outside.
The streets below were alive with commuters and joggers. There was even the distant melody of a street musician somewhere on the corner. Newt watched it all through the safety of his blinds, detached and uninterested. He didn't belong to that world anymore. Maybe he never had.His coffee finished brewing, and he took a seat at his usual spot on the couch, laptop open in front of him. Today, he thought, might be the day he'd actually try to do something—pay bills, reply to messages, anything to prove to himself that he was still tethered to reality. But as he stared at the screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, the familiar heaviness settled over him.He closed the laptop with a sigh and leaned back, letting his head tilt toward the ceiling. The cracks in the paint had become like old friends, their patterns etched into his memory. It was easier to lose himself in them than to face the growing stack of responsibilities that loomed in the background of his life.By noon, hunger prodded him out of his reverie. He rummaged through the fridge and found a leftover slice of pizza, cold and stiff in its cardboard box. He ate it standing up, staring at nothing in particular, his thoughts drifting to her again. It had been two years, but the memories still clung to him, sharp and unyielding. The way she used to laugh, the way she'd run her fingers through her hair when she was nervous. He shook his head, as if the gesture could dislodge her ghost from his mind.The afternoon stretched on, a slow crawl of hours punctuated by the occasional buzz of his phone. He ignored it, as always. Instead, he paced the apartment, his thoughts spinning in circles. The walls felt closer today, the air heavier. He tried to distract himself by cleaning—washing dishes, organizing the clutter on his desk—but it was a temporary reprieve at best. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the apartment was spotless, and Newt was back on the couch, staring at the darkened window.It was 9 PM when he finally reached for his phone. Five missed calls, three from his mother and two from a number he didn't recognize. A handful of unread messages, mostly automated alerts and spam. He scrolled through them with half-hearted disinterest before setting the phone down again. None of it mattered. None of it ever did.As the night wore on, Newt found himself sitting at the edge of his bed, the weight of the day pressing down on him. He thought about tomorrow, about how it would be the same as today, the same as yesterday. The thought was both comforting and suffocating.He lay back, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to claim him. But as his eyes began to close, a strange sensation crept over him. It was subtle at first, like the faintest whisper at the edge of his consciousness. He dismissed it, chalking it up to exhaustion. Yet, as the seconds stretched into minutes, the feeling grew stronger—a presence, a weight, something just beyond his understanding.Newt's eyes snapped open. The room was silent, but it didn't feel empty. Something was different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew—deep down, instinctively—that everything was about to change.