There was nothing special about that day.
The sky was a pale gray—not the kind of overcast that promised rain, just a thin layer of clouds that made the sunlight feel tired. The city moved as it always did—vehicles stopping and starting at traffic lights, pedestrians crossing with familiar expressions, faces caught somewhere between fatigue and resignation.
Astrael stood on the station platform, waiting for a train that was three minutes late. He knew the exact delay because the digital board above him was always precise about small things that never truly mattered. Three minutes was insignificant, yet enough to make people sigh, check their phones, or curse quietly to themselves.
He did none of that.
Astrael simply stood there, his bag slung over his right shoulder, his left hand resting on the cold metal railing. His eyes drifted over the surroundings without settling on any one point. A middle-aged man in front of him kept glancing at his wristwatch, as if sheer will could accelerate the second hand. Two high school girls laughed softly, talking about something that clearly mattered to them. In the corner, an elderly woman sat still with her eyes closed.
Everyone was living. In their own way.
The train finally arrived. Steel screeched against rail, doors slid open, and the crowd flowed inside without instruction. Astrael stepped in with them—not rushed, not delayed. He took his usual spot near the door. Easy to get off, easy to shift aside, easy to disappear from notice.
Inside the train, his reflection appeared faintly in the window. Unstyled black hair, eyes calm even under exhaustion. An ordinary face. If he vanished tomorrow, there would be no missing-person posters bearing his image plastered on city walls.
And that didn't bother him.
Astrael had never aspired to become someone remarkable. Nor did he resent the world. He simply lived at a pace that felt sufficient to him. Worked enough, slept on time, ate when hungry. He didn't chase praise, nor did he refuse responsibility when it came.
People often misunderstood him. They mistook calmness for indifference.
It wasn't.
He cared—just not loudly.
The train stopped at the next station. A young man stepped in and stood beside Astrael. Their shoulders brushed by accident. The man turned quickly.
"Ah, sorry," he said out of reflex.
"It's fine," Astrael replied.
The exchange ended there. No follow-up. Yet in his mind, Astrael briefly thought about how often people apologized for trivial things, as if the world were too fragile to touch without permission.
He got off at his station and exited with the rest of the crowd. The evening air greeted him with the smell of warm asphalt and faint dust. The streets were busy, but not chaotic. This city was good at hiding its exhaustion behind order.
At a small shop near the intersection, Astrael stopped. He went in and bought a canned drink. The cashier—a girl with a tired face and a practiced smile—announced the price.
"Strange weather, huh?" she said as she handed him the change. A standard phrase, meant to fill silence.
"Yeah," Astrael replied. He hesitated for a moment, then added, "But it's not bad."
The girl paused for a fraction of a second, then smiled a little more genuinely. "That's true."
Astrael stepped outside, opened the can, and took a sip. The taste was ordinary. Sweet, but fleeting. Like many things in life.
He continued home on foot. His apartment wasn't far. He had chosen a place that required minimal transitions. Life, to him, was about reducing friction.
His steps were steady. He passed a small park where several children were playing. Their shouts were loud, their laughter honest. One child fell and cried, then stood up again after his mother rushed over. A simple scene, but real.
Astrael stopped briefly and watched.
The world keeps moving, even when we do nothing.
The thought crossed his mind without any exaggerated philosophical weight. He didn't write it down or share it with anyone. He accepted it as a fact.
At his apartment, Astrael set his bag down, changed clothes, and sat by the window. City lights began turning on one by one. He checked his phone, read a few non-urgent messages, replied where necessary.
No bad news. No good news.
Night arrived without ceremony.
He cooked a simple dinner—rice, eggs, vegetables. He ate while listening to the city beyond the window. Occasionally, a distant siren echoed, but it never came closer. The world handled its own affairs.
After eating, Astrael washed the dishes and took a shower. Warm water flowed over him, carrying away the remnants of the day's fatigue. He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
The same face.
The same life.
And that was enough.
He lay down on his bed and turned off the light. Darkness filled the room—not as something oppressive, but as a pause. His breathing was steady. His thoughts weren't crowded with grand plans or regrets.
He thought of something small: it might rain tomorrow, so he should bring an umbrella.
Consciousness faded slowly, like a light dimmed with care. There was no pain. No warning.
Astrael fell asleep.
—
He did not know that it was his last night as a human in that world.