Living In The Grey

The moon hung bright in the night sky as I walked alone toward my apartment, Mac DeMarco's "Still Beating" playing softly through my headphones. I passed the park where I once spent countless evenings seated on a bench, laptop open, sketching ideas for what had been my previous project-an online application designed to connect strangers and help relationships take shape.
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‎That project was no longer just an idea. I had finished it, and the company I worked for had launched it last year. Even now, I could see its presence everywhere: people walking along the street with faint smiles on their faces, eyes fixed on their screens, chatting with someone they had never met-someone who might soon become something more.
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‎When I reached my apartment, the space was shrouded in darkness. I flicked on the light and headed straight for the kitchen, setting my bag down on the table before opening the refrigerator. I poured myself a glass of water and drank it in long, steady gulps.
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‎"Finally... the long day is over," I murmured as I eased myself into a chair.
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‎The exhaustion settled in fully then. I had been buried in a new project for weeks, pushing myself harder than I should have, and all I wanted was rest. But before I could gather myself, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over me.
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‎I pressed a hand against the table, steadying my breathing.
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‎I know I'm tired-but this feels different, I thought. Heavier. Sharper.
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‎The room seemed to tilt, the edges of my vision blurring as a dull ringing filled my ears. My heartbeat thudded louder, uneven, as though struggling to keep pace. I tried to stand, but my legs refused to cooperate, trembling beneath me.
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‎Something was wrong.
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‎As the light above flickered once, my vision darkened-and the world slipped quietly out of reach.