It was the stroke of midnight, the hour when silence enveloped the world outside. I found myself restless, tossing and turning on my bed, my gaze fixed on the ceiling fan that spun endlessly above me, its rhythmic motion both soothing and maddening.

After a moment of contemplation, I shifted my focus to the dresser, a familiar sight that beckoned me. With a sigh, I pushed myself up and padded softly to the pantry.

There, I retrieved a packet of ramen noodles, the crinkling sound breaking the stillness as I tossed it into the pot of boiling water. The aroma of the spicy broth soon filled the air, and once my creation was complete, I settled beside the dresser, savoring a sip of mint soda that danced on my tongue, followed by a bite of the fiery noodles.

With the bowl resting on the table, I reached for my diary, pulling it from its place atop the dresser. Flipping to the second chapter, I steeled myself for the words that awaited me, ready to confront the thoughts I had poured onto the pages.

Between the seesaw of life and death, his life seems to take up a rhythm of ups and downs in life. Hassan sank into the embrace of his comfort, the weight of his laptop resting in his lap as the screen flickered to life. The iconic opening credits of "The Godfather" began to roll, drawing him into a realm where loyalty and treachery danced hand in hand amidst the shadows of organized crime.

His dark brown hair, tousled from a long day, fell carelessly over his forehead. His eyes roamed around the screen as it took in the details of the film's gripping narrative, absorbing every moment with intensity. Leaning back, his slender fingers tapped rhythmically against the edge of the laptop, his lean form clad in a simple T-shirt and jeans, exuding a relaxed demeanor.

The world of violence and gangsters was more than mere entertainment; it was a refuge, a fleeting escape from the suffocating grip of his hometowns traditions and the weight of his unfulfilled dreams.

As the film unfolded, his thoughts drifted to the day that had passed. College had been a blur of monotony, but the grind of his part-time courier job had provided a much-needed distraction. The physical demands of the work were exhausting, yet they offered a reprieve from the pressures of academia.

The door creaked open, and his mother, Sahar, entered with a gentle smile. "Didn't sleep yet?"

He nodded, pausing the film reluctantly.

Her gaze lingered on him, a flicker of concern dancing in her eyes. "You look worn out."

He returned her concern with a warm smile, his eyes lighting up with affection, crinkling at the corners. The one soul that kept him going and never give up.

As she left the room, his thoughts turned to his father, Haadhi. Their exchanges were few and far between, often reduced to curt responses. He struggled to remember the last time they had shared a meaningful conversation. He didn't miss it, but it did leave huge void in his life.

With the movie's conclusion, he closed his laptop, enveloped in a comforting silence. In that stillness, he found a sense of peace—free from expectations and judgments. Just him, alone. He felt it after every movie. Perfaps life wasn't that bad at all.

Tomorrow would undoubtedly bring its own set of plot twists, but for now, he relished the tranquility, releasing a soft sigh.

His gaze wandered to the city skyline outside, the twinkling lights of his hometown serving as a beacon for his aspirations. He yearned to break free from tradition and carve out his own destiny.

The quiet of the room wrapped around him like a warm cocoon, offering solace in the solitude.

I took another sip of my mint soda, the coolness refreshing against the warmth of the night, as I pushed open the balcony door. The darkness stretched out before me, a vast canvas that stirred memories of Hassan, who once claimed he was Batman, destined to keep the world safe through sleepless nights.

A soft chuckle escaped my lips at the thought, a bittersweet reminder of how life had shifted beneath our feet.

Hassan. The name echoed in my mind, a mantra that brought both comfort and pain.

He had fought valiantly for this town, pouring his heart and soul into every effort, nearly sacrificing everything he held dear. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of anger towards the people who had stolen that radiant smile from his face.

He was a dream I could never escape, and in his absence, I felt as though I had lost my own soul, wandering aimlessly in the shadows of his brilliance.

All those struggles—what had they truly brought me? I placed the diary back on the shelf, its pages filled with memories, and reached for my headphones, pressing play on my Spotify playlist.

Was it mere coincidence or fate? The first notes of "I Wanna Be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys filled my ears, a song that had once united us in laughter and longing.

How much more sorrow could this day hold? The night enveloped me, and with everyone else asleep, I wondered if anyone would notice if I let my tears flow freely.

As my eyes shimmered with unshed tears, I thought I caught a glimpse of a shooting star streaking across the sky. Perhaps I was late for a wish, but could I still dare to hope for a chance to be his?

I closed my eyes, sinking deeper into my seat, as the tears cascaded down my cheeks. I knew I would wake with puffy eyes in the morning, but the weight of my emotions was too heavy to bear in silence.

My breaths came in ragged gasps as I cried, releasing the pent-up sorrow until I was utterly spent.

Dear Milena,

I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: "Come with me, Milena. We are going to love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. Because the world is ending tomorrow."

Perhaps we don't love unreasonably because we think we have time, or have to reckon with time. But what if we don't have time? Or what if time, as we know it, is irrelevant? Ah, if only the world were ending tomorrow. We could help each other very much.

- Franz Kafka