The glow from the phone screen reflected in his bloodshot eyes. It was 4:17 AM.
The web novel app still had two more unread chapters in the corner, and that number was enough reason to ignore the burning behind his eyelids. He hadn't blinked in a while. His spine curved like a sickle, knees pulled up to his chest, back against a wall that hadn't been cleaned in months.
Sixteen hours. That's how long he'd been on the screen today.
His name was Arnay. Seventeen years old. Acne-ridden face. Slouched posture. Smelled faintly of stale chips and old T-shirt sweat. He wasn't proud of it. But he didn't hate himself either.
He just… didn't feel anything anymore.
His hair was greasy. His eyes had bags under them that looked more permanent than his personality. His family had stopped commenting. Even the jokes stopped. That was scarier than the taunts.
He closed the app. Then opened Instagram. Then Reddit. Then YouTube. Then Webnovel again. Each one, for no reason. A reflex. An escape loop.
He scrolled until he landed on her story. The girl he used to like.
She was at a cafe. Laughing. Sitting beside some guy who wore cologne and confidence.
Aryan clicked her profile. Then clicked out. Then opened it again.
Then just dropped the phone.
The thud felt louder than it should've. Maybe because the house was asleep. Maybe because his mind wasn't.
He looked down at his hands. Shaky. Weak. Pale. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done a push-up. Or seen the sunrise.
His face caught a glimpse in the mirror across the room. He flinched.
"Who the fuck even are you?"
He whispered it, but the words punched harder than they should have.
He walked to the bathroom. Switched on the light.
Red pimples. Oily skin. Blank stare.
He stared long enough to start tearing up. Not from sadness. From something worse.
Numbness.
He thought about those novels. Where the main character dies and gets reborn. New world. New face. New strength. The cheat system. The revenge.
He didn't want revenge. He didn't even want a new world.
He just didn't want to be this.
He slumped to the floor, back against the wall. Again. Same posture.
But something shifted.
He grabbed the phone. Opened the voice recorder app.
Click.
"This is day zero," he whispered. "If I don't change in the next one year... maybe I won't get a second one."
He paused.
Then looked into the mirror again.
And didn't look away.