Cooper's alarm buzzed incessantly, jolting him from a restless sleep. The faint glow of the streetlights seeped through

the half-closed blinds, casting long shadows across the room. He groaned, slapping the alarm clock into silence, and stared

at the ceiling. Another day, another routine.

The smell of brewing coffee greeted him as he trudged into the kitchen. The old coffeemaker sputtered and hissed as if sharing

his reluctance to start the day. The walls of his small apartment were lined with reminders of unfulfilled dreams—books on

confidence, a dusty guitar, and a vision board he hadn't updated in months.

By the time he reached the office, the city was already alive. Cars honked impatiently, and the chatter of pedestrians filled

the air. Cooper adjusted his tie as he stepped into the building, his shoes squeaking slightly on the polished floors. He

paused briefly to glance at his reflection in the elevator doors—a tired man in his early thirties with unremarkable features

staring back at him.

"Morning, Cooper," said Janice from HR, her tone cheerful but impersonal. She barely waited for his response before walking away.

"Morning," Cooper muttered under his breath. He adjusted his tie again and stepped into his cubicle. The walls were lined with

sticky notes reminding him of deadlines, a few family photos, and a potted plant that seemed to be wilting in solidarity with him.

"Hey, Coop!" Paul leaned over the partition, his grin as wide as ever. "You catch the game last night? Man, the Mavericks

killed it!"

"Didn't watch it," Cooper replied, forcing a polite smile. "Late night working on the Johnson report."

Paul chuckled. "Man, you've got to get a life. Speaking of which, drinks after work? Might do you some good."

"Maybe," Cooper said, though they both knew he'd come up with an excuse later. He wasn't in the mood for crowded bars or

pointless small talk.

As the day dragged on, Cooper buried himself in spreadsheets and emails. His boss, Jonathan, barked orders from his corner

office, occasionally stopping by to drop another stack of papers on Cooper's desk without so much as a "thank you."

By lunchtime, the cafeteria buzzed with energy. Groups of colleagues laughed and chatted, but Cooper sat alone, scrolling

through his phone and picking at a dry sandwich.

That evening, the rain poured heavily as Cooper walked home. The city streets glistened like liquid gold under the streetlights,

and the sound of raindrops mingled with distant car horns and hurried footsteps. He clutched his umbrella tightly, his mind

drifting to the same thought that haunted him every night.

"Why can't I just be different? Better?"

At home, he stood before the mirror, his reflection illuminated by the warm glow of the bathroom light. He practiced a firm

handshake, then smiled awkwardly at himself.

"Tomorrow," he said quietly. "Tomorrow, I'll start changing."

But deep down, he knew that tomorrow would come and go, just like today.