The door to Jake's room refused to close properly. The hinge had bent years ago, so he had to lift the door an inch before pushing it in.
The air inside was stale. Not the kind that comes from closed windows — the kind that comes from a place where hope stopped circulating.
He dropped his bag on the floor. It didn't make a sound.
That scared him more than noise ever could.
The walls leaned inward like they were embarrassed to be seen with him. His bed, his table, his half-empty water bottle — everything felt too close, too aware.
The room wasn't small.
It was suffocating.
Jake turned around and walked back out.
He climbed the stairs to the roof, one step at a time, dragging his body like it owed him money. The city opened up above him — concrete rooftops, tangled wires, distant horns cutting the night apart.
He lay down on the cold cement.
The sky was unusually clear. No clouds. Just black stretched to infinity, studded with careless stars that had never worried about rent or resumes.
He closed his eyes.
Didn't sleep.
His chest tightened for no reason he could name. Breathing became something he had to think about, like a task he was about to fail.
So he opened his eyes again.
And they burned.
Tears slid sideways into his ears, warm and humiliating. He didn't wipe them. There was no one here to pretend for.
That's when it happened.
A thin white line cut across the sky.
A shooting star.
He had seen videos of them before. Never in real life. He sat up slowly, afraid it would vanish if he moved too fast.
It didn't vanish.
It grew brighter.
If reincarnation is real…Let me not be this again.
He didn't ask for money.Didn't ask for power.
Just not this life.
The light spread, bleaching the stars around it. The rooftop glowed pale silver. Shadows stretched like they were trying to escape him.
The night trembled.
And for a moment — just one impossible moment — it felt like morning had arrived early.