Hidden Life

01. Faded Morning

The cold was sharper than ever that morning, sinking into the bones of the house. Pale, withered sunlight barely filtered through the frost-covered window, its weak glow landing on an empty table scattered with crumpled papers. Outside, the birds sang—yet their song was strange, unfamiliar, as if nature itself had forgotten how mornings were supposed to sound.

Zeyn Sebastian sat at the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on the mist swirling just beyond the glass. He inhaled deeply, the air heavy with the scent of dampness and something else—something darker, heavier. His thoughts drifted, the same old questions creeping back into his mind, questions he never found answers to. Was it relief he sought or the quiet numbness of despair?

The sharp buzz of the alarm snapped him from his thoughts, the red numbers flashing '7:00 AM.' He silenced it with a single swipe, but made no move to rise. For a long moment, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him. The blanket, cocooned around his body, was a temporary shield from the world—a world he hadn't faced in nearly three weeks.

His food pantry was almost empty, but hunger didn't stir in him the way it once had. Meals were optional now, just like the calls and messages he ignored without a second thought. Only emails got a glance, and even then, they were more a habit than a necessity. The money was there, enough to keep him comfortable for months, yet comfort had become meaningless. The work that once drove him now felt like a distant, irrelevant memory.

The neighbors had long since stopped checking in on him. Whispers about his mental state floated through the walls of his small apartment. Some claimed he was unstable; others simply pitied him from afar. He couldn't bring himself to care either way. Isolation had become his routine, and no one was coming to save him from it.

But today, something broke through the fog. A necessity. He had to go outside, had to leave the suffocating stillness of his home. The thought weighed on him like lead, but even he couldn't deny the urgency anymore. With a slow exhale, Zeyn tossed the blanket aside and forced himself to sit up. He dragged his body to the bathroom, the icy floor biting at his bare feet. The cold water that splashed across his skin sent a brief shock through him, one of the few sensations that still felt real.

After a half-hearted breakfast and pulling on his clothes, Zeyn stood in front of the mirror. The man staring back was a stranger—hollow eyes, disheveled hair, stubble that hadn't seen a razor in weeks. He wondered, briefly, when he'd stopped recognizing himself.

His phone felt foreign in his hand as he dialed the number for a cab. The ring seemed to echo in the quiet room until a voice crackled through the line.

'Hello, Carsel's Cab Service, how may I assist you?'

'I need a ride to town,' Zeyn's voice was rough, unused.

'Certainly, sir. The address?'

'21 Cornen Street, Western Polly.'

'Understood. A cab will be there in ten minutes. May I have your name?'

'Zeyn. Zeyn Sebastian.'

'Thank you, Mr. Sebastian. Your ride is on its way. Have a nice day.'

'Right,' Zeyn muttered, hanging up. The words felt empty, like everything else these days. He wasn't expecting a nice day. He wasn't expecting anything at all.

But at least it would be different. For the first time in weeks, something would change.