**Fix Later**
Kai never believed in second chances.
He sat on the cracked concrete steps behind the convenience store, the fluorescent light above him flickering like it was about to give up. The night air in the city smelled of rain and fried oil. His phone battery was at three percent. His bank account was at forty-seven dollars. And the rejection email from the warehouse job still sat unread in his inbox because he already knew what it said.
He was twenty-four, thin in the wrong places, and tired in a way that sleep never fixed.
A plastic bag sat at his feet. Inside it were two cup noodles and a bottle of cheap energy drink. Dinner. Again.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the brick wall. For a moment he let himself imagine a different life—one where he wasn't always one bad week away from sleeping in his car. One where people actually looked at him when he spoke. One where his body didn't feel like a borrowed machine that was slowly falling apart.
