Rain poured over the city that night, washing across apartment windows and flooding the gutters until the streets became long ribbons of reflected light. Cars moved cautiously through the darkness, their headlights cutting through the rain, while pedestrians hurried beneath umbrellas, desperate to reach somewhere warm.
On the seventh floor of an aging apartment building, a man sat alone in a dark room.
His name was Daniel, and he was thirty-four years old.
An empty instant-noodle cup sat beside his computer, surrounded by crumpled wrappers, dirty plates, and several plastic bottles. The curtains had remained closed for so long that he could barely remember the last time sunlight had properly entered the room. The air was stale, carrying the unpleasant mixture of old food, dust, and sweat.
His computer screen illuminated his unshaven face.
Another video played.
Daniel watched without much interest, occasionally reaching for a packet of snacks before returning his hand to the keyboard. He had spent most of the day doing exactly this, and there was little reason to believe tomorrow would be any different.
Or the day after that.
He had no job, no partner, no close friends, and no particular reason to leave his apartment unless he needed food. Most of his days blurred together until he could no longer distinguish one from another. He slept when he felt tired, ate when he felt hungry, and spent the remaining hours distracting himself from the uncomfortable silence of his own life.
His phone vibrated beside him.
Daniel glanced at the screen.
Mum.
He stared at the name for several seconds before turning the phone facedown.
It vibrated again.
Then again.
With an irritated sigh, he picked it up.
"Seriously, what now?"
He answered the call.
"Hello?"
"Daniel?"
His mother's voice sounded tired.
"What?"
"Have you eaten?"
He glanced at the empty noodle cup.
"Yes."
There was a brief pause.
"What did you eat?"
"Food, Mum. What else would I eat?"
"Don't speak to me like that."
Daniel rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.
"I'm not in the mood for this."
"I called because I wanted to hear your voice."
That silenced him for a moment.
Outside, thunder rumbled across the city, and rain tapped against the window beside his desk.
His mother continued, speaking more softly.
"Your father asked about you yesterday. Your younger brother is coming home next week, too. Why don't you come and visit us? We could all have dinner together."
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
"I told you. I'm busy."
"Busy doing what?"
The question irritated him more than it should have.
"Why do you always have to do this?"
"Do what?"
"Make me feel like a failure every time we talk!"
His voice rose, filling the small room.
"I know what my life looks like, okay? I don't need you reminding me every five minutes!"
His mother said nothing.
Daniel could hear her breathing through the phone, and the silence that followed was somehow more uncomfortable than an argument would have been.
For a brief moment, he felt something unpleasant settle in his chest.
Guilt.
He hated that feeling. It reminded him of things he preferred not to think about, things he had spent years pushing to the back of his mind.
"I'm not trying to make you feel like a failure," his mother eventually said. "I'm worried about you."
"Well, stop worrying."
"Daniel—"
He ended the call.
The room fell silent again.
He stared at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. For a moment, he considered calling her back. He even unlocked the screen, but after several seconds, he tossed the phone onto the bed.
"Whatever."
He returned to his computer.
The video continued playing, its cheerful background music filling the room as though nothing had happened.
Minutes passed, then an hour. Eventually, Daniel forgot about the conversation altogether, or at least pretended to.
That was how he had lived for years.
Whenever something hurt, he distracted himself. Whenever he made a mistake, he found an excuse. Whenever life demanded that he change, he convinced himself there would be time to do it later.
He had once been different.
At least, he liked to believe he had been.
When he was younger, he had dreams. He wanted to become successful, travel the world, make enough money to support his parents, and live a life that would make the people who doubted him regret their words.
He had possessed potential. His teachers had said so, his parents had believed in him, and even his friends had once expected great things from him.
But potential was a strange thing. It could make a person feel special without requiring him to accomplish anything.
Daniel had spent years believing that because he could become someone remarkable, he would eventually become someone remarkable.
He waited for motivation. He waited for the right opportunity. He waited for the perfect moment to begin again.
And while he waited, his life passed him by.
At first, his failures had embarrassed him. Later, they angered him. Eventually, he stopped caring enough to feel anything at all.
He became very good at pretending that he didn't want the things he had failed to obtain.
A relationship ended because he couldn't bring himself to take responsibility for his own life. Friends gradually stopped inviting him out. His younger brother found work, started a family, and moved forward while Daniel remained trapped in the same room, watching other people live.
Whenever his family asked about his future, he changed the subject. Whenever someone suggested that he find a job, he became defensive. Whenever he saw someone younger than himself succeeding, he told himself they were lucky.
It was easier than admitting the truth.
He had wasted years of his life.
And now, at thirty-four, Daniel had become a man who resented the world for the consequences of his own decisions.
He knew this. Somewhere beneath the excuses, he had always known. He simply preferred not to look too closely.
By eleven o'clock that night, the rain had begun to weaken, but Daniel's stomach was growling again. He checked the refrigerator, found nothing worth eating, and swore under his breath.
The nearest convenience store was a few streets away. Ordinarily, he would have ordered food, but his bank balance had fallen dangerously low. He needed to withdraw money the following morning, pay his electricity bill, and somehow find enough to cover the rent due in less than two weeks.
He shut the refrigerator.
"Wonderful."
After changing into a faded jacket, he grabbed his wallet and left the apartment.
The corridor smelled of damp concrete. A faulty ceiling light flickered above the stairwell, casting irregular shadows across the walls. Daniel descended the stairs, stepped outside, and immediately regretted leaving.
Cold rainwater splashed against his shoes.
The streets were quieter now. Most of the shops had closed, and the few vehicles passing through the neighbourhood moved cautiously along the wet road. Daniel shoved his hands into his pockets and walked toward the convenience store, keeping his head lowered against the rain.
As he walked, his thoughts drifted back to his mother's call.
He remembered the disappointment in her voice, the way she had asked whether he had eaten, and the way she had invited him home despite knowing he would probably refuse.
For a moment, he imagined visiting his parents the following week. He could help his father with a few things around the house. He could sit with his mother in the kitchen and listen to her complain about the neighbours. Perhaps he could even apologise for the way he had spoken to her.
It wasn't impossible.
He could still find a job. He could still get his life together.
He was only thirty-four.
People started over at forty. Fifty. Sixty.
He had time.
Daniel nodded to himself, reassured by the thought.
"Yeah," he muttered. "I'll sort everything out soon."
He had said those exact words countless times before, always with the same quiet certainty that there would be another opportunity, another morning, another chance to become the person he had once imagined himself being.
He never noticed the irony.
The convenience store stood across a busy intersection, its bright sign glowing through the rain. Daniel crossed the pavement, entered the shop, and bought a cheap sandwich and a bottle of water. The cashier barely glanced at him before returning her attention to her phone.
A few minutes later, he stepped outside again.
The rain had almost stopped, leaving the road slick beneath the streetlights. Water gathered along the edges of the pavement, and the occasional vehicle sent it spraying across the asphalt.
As Daniel approached the pedestrian crossing, he noticed a group of people gathered near the opposite pavement. A delivery van had stopped at the roadside, and its driver was arguing with someone over the phone, apparently unaware that the traffic signal was changing.
Daniel glanced at the crossing.
The pedestrian light turned green.
He began walking.
Halfway across the road, a horn suddenly blared.
The sound was so loud that several pedestrians turned their heads.
Daniel did the same.
Headlights flooded his vision.
A heavy vehicle was approaching from his right, moving far too quickly for the wet road. Its tires hissed against the asphalt, and the driver seemed to be struggling to bring it under control.
For one absurd second, Daniel simply stared.
His mind refused to process what his eyes were seeing.
Then someone screamed.
He tried to move, but his foot slipped against the wet road. The sandwich fell from his hand, landing in a shallow puddle.
The next instant, the world became a blur of white light, rain, and metal.
The impact came before he could finish his next breath.
His body struck the road and rolled across the wet asphalt. Pain exploded through him, so immense that his mind seemed to shut down beneath it. He heard shouting, hurried footsteps, and someone desperately calling for an ambulance.
Daniel tried to breathe.
He couldn't.
His chest felt crushed. His limbs refused to respond, and every attempt to move sent another wave of agony through his body.
He stared up at the night sky.
Rain fell against his face.
Somewhere nearby, a woman was crying.
"Please! Somebody help him!"
Daniel wanted to tell her that he was still alive. He wanted to ask someone to call his mother. He wanted to say that he was sorry.
For the first time in years, he had something he desperately wanted to do, and he could not make his body obey him.
His fingers twitched against the road.
His vision began to darken around the edges.
No.
The thought came suddenly, accompanied by a rush of panic.
Wait.
He wasn't ready.
He hadn't fixed anything. He hadn't apologised to his mother. He hadn't visited his parents, found a job, or made anything of himself.
He hadn't done anything.
His life had been a long succession of tomorrows, and now there might never be another one.
Panic tightened its grip on him.
Somebody, please.
He tried to speak, but blood filled his mouth. His lungs struggled desperately for air, and his eyes remained fixed on the sky as rainwater ran across his face.
I don't want to die.
The thought was raw, desperate, and painfully honest.
For once, Daniel had no excuse to hide behind.
He had wasted his life.
He knew it.
And he would never get it back.
His mother's face appeared in his fading consciousness.
He remembered the last time she had visited him. She had brought groceries, cleaned his kitchen, and left money on the table despite his insistence that he didn't need it.
Before leaving, she had touched his shoulder.
"Whatever happens, Daniel, you can always come home."
He had barely acknowledged her. He hadn't even looked away from his computer.
Now, lying helplessly in the rain, he wished he could hear those words one more time.
His lips trembled.
"I'm..."
The word never finished.
His breathing stopped.
The rain continued falling, washing over the road as strangers gathered around his motionless body. Someone knelt beside him. Another person shouted that the ambulance was coming.
But Daniel could no longer hear them.
The man who had spent years waiting for his life to begin had finally reached its end.
And his last thought was not about money, success, or the people who had disappointed him.
It was a simple, bitter wish.
If I could do it again...
Darkness swallowed him.
I would live differently....