The pen slowly moved in his hands as he lazily spun his slender finger.
The time was over 3 at midnight, yet he was still wide awake.
A subtle moonlight shone through the open windows, illuminating his dimly lit room.
"3 years," he muttered.
He was leaning lazily on his chair, deep in his own thoughts. His other hand reached out for the shirt pocket, and when he grabbed the contents inside, he frowned.
"Forgot to buy a pack."
He tossed the empty cigarette pack toward the overloaded trash bin a distance away.
The empty paper box narrowly missed the bin, and it fell to the ground with a faint thud.
He sighed and finally stopped the rhythmic spinning of his fingers, putting the pen down.
The table in front of him was decorated with the mess of unfinished drafts and manuscripts.
Staring blankly at the mess, he felt the sudden urge to throw all of it through the windows, along with himself.
With negative thoughts, his eyes moved toward the road. The usual busy road felt like a haunted town. Nightlife and festivals used to be a thing here. Now, they are nothing but the ghosts of the past.
Beep
His thoughts were distracted by a sound from his mobile phone.
He glanced through the loading screen and couldn't help but chuckle after seeing the content.
Maets — the computer gaming platform he used to play.
The digital texts behind the dusty phone screen felt like they were mocking him.
"Dread Spirits 3 is now on sale with 90% discount!"
The game he had wishlisted over a decade ago.
"When it is out, let's play it together, man!" his own words echoed in his mind.
What happened afterwards in that year wasn't pleasant, but seeing this reminded him of some good old memories.
Finally sitting up from his chair, he reached out for the worn square object on another table.
The laptop had the letters SUSA engraved on the lid.
His thumb pressed the round button on the left corner.
Nothing happened.
"Of course," he murmured and searched for the cable. The cord lay on the floor, along with the trash he hadn't thrown away.
After the laptop was properly set up, he pressed the power button.
Again, nothing. But he was patient.
After a minute, the laptop lit up with the creaking sound of old fans.
He sat down and stared at his own reflection as the system loaded slowly. It took a total of 10 minutes, and a lock screen finally appeared.
"Huh," he exclaimed quietly.
A group photo.
Sudden emotions swarmed.
What was it?
Did he feel happy because they finally found the happiness they deserved?
Or, was he angry because he never found his?
He tapped the ENTER button with a frustrated click.
The password wasn't hard to guess after spotting a certain face in the group.
When he finally logged in, the system took some time to display the application. Very old model indeed.
Before the app could fully load up, a black window appeared at the center; the icon nested inside that window was spinning in a timely motion.
DOCRIDS — everyone's go-to chat platform during his youthful days. The application loaded up
with a thousand notifications, but most of them were ads. Among them was an unread message.
His heart ached after seeing a simple sentence that said —
"What happened?"
He dismissed it and scrolled slowly. The once bustling servers were nothing more than forgotten groups.
Only his icon was blinking with green light, like a sole star in the pitch darkness. How ironic.
His eyes shifted to the left. The friend panel. To his surprise, one icon was flashing with green light, just like his. The icon was at the top, which means he used to chat with this person a lot.
He couldn't help but smile at the profile picture.
A family photo.
He knew both of them, and even the little kid in the middle. The last time he visited, she called him "Uncle."
The profile owner was playing a game. Judging by the time, it looked like he just put his daughter to sleep.
Yo
He typed two letters but immediately deleted them.
What good would come of it?
He scrolled through the friend list idly. Maybe he was subconsciously hoping someone would notice him. But no one was there, except for an estranged friend who's gonna be playing games all night.
What is this feeling in his chest? This suffocating feeling that shouldn't exist.
Hatred? Jealousy? Frustration? Disappointment? Anger?
The package in front of the doormat was beckoning his feelings.
He ordered that with an impulsive thought but never brought himself to use it.
It didn't matter anymore.
Nothing worked.
Not hard work. Not passion. Not love.
Nothing he did was enough.
So, maybe it was better that...
With a heavy sigh, he took out the cylinder from the package.