The clock read 10:47 p.m. when Adriel opened the door to his apartment. Another day done. Another one no different from the last.

  He left his backpack by the entryway, took off his shoes, and stared at the floor for a few seconds, as if the next step cost him something. He flipped on the light: a small living room, messy, but above all empty.

  This wasn’t the life he’d imagined at eighteen, when he left his home country hoping to find a better future. A country whose name he preferred not to recall—not out of nostalgia, but because of the contempt he felt for everything he’d lived through there.

  He’d grown up in a hostile environment, where people seemed more concerned with surviving than living. His childhood memories were full of family arguments, noisy streets, and looks that judged anyone who was different. He never fit in. He was the quiet kid, the one who spoke only when necessary, the one who always seemed to be somewhere else.

  In school he had few friends, and though he appreciated the ones he had, he knew that, deep down, none of them truly understood him. While others got excited about parties, sports, or plans for the future, Adriel preferred to take refuge in books, video games, and thoughts he never shared with anyone.

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  At eighteen, convinced the only way to escape that life was to leave, he decided to move to Spain. He believed that there—far from everything he despised—he could finally build something for himself.

  Reality was different. He arrived alone, with a couple of suitcases and too many expectations. He found underpaid jobs, superficial friendships, and a system that seemed designed to wring him out without giving anything back. Six years later, everything he’d dreamed of had turned into a gray, exhausting routine.

  That night was no different from so many others. He made himself a quick dinner, turned on his laptop, and let a show play in the background while he ate. Each bite tasted as bland as the emptiness that had accompanied him for years.

  Sometimes he wondered what had become of that young man who dreamed of traveling, meeting new people, achieving something that would make him feel alive. Maybe he had never really existed. Maybe he’d only been a mirage—an illusion that faded with time.

  When he finished dinner, he left the plate on the table and dragged himself to bed. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

  “Tomorrow will be the same…” he whispered, his voice heavy with fatigue.

  He closed his eyes, never imagining it would be the last time he did so in that world.

  Darkness. Silence. Nothing…