He was exhausted, not just physically, but in a way that seeped into his very being. Each day felt like an unbearable loop; a cycle he no longer had the strength to break. He had long wished for an escape, a way to end everything without pain. Because pain terrified him, even more than the thought of dying.
He had tried before, in ways that should have worked. But every time, he still woke up, as if even death refused to take him. Morning after morning, he opened his eyes to the same dull existence, trapped in a world that no longer held meaning. Eventually, he stopped trying.
He had no one. No family, no friends. No reason to stay. Yet, for some unknown reason, he kept moving forward, dragging his insignificant self through a life that had long lost its purpose.
Then, something changed.
A flower shop opened downstairs from his apartment. It wasn't anything extraordinary, nothing that should have mattered to him. But he noticed it. Flowers hold different meaning. They are the symbols of love, hope, remembrance. They were delicate, beautiful, and cherished. Everything he was not. He had reason, logic, thoughts, yet he brought no joy, no warmth. Just an empty existence, starkly contrasting the vibrant petals that swayed gently in the wind.
One day, as he walked past, his eyes fell on a single withering flower, left outside the shop. Its color had faded, its stem bent, its petals barely clinging on. It wouldn't last much longer.
Just like him.
He stared at it for too long, lost in the quiet understanding he shared with that dying flower. He didn't even notice the presence beside him until a soft voice broke through his thoughts.
"Sir?"
He flinched. Turned his head just enough to see the shop attendant watching him, their dark eyes unreadable yet piercing, as if they could see through the fragile walls he had built around himself.
Something about their gaze sent a shiver down his spine.
Without a word, he fled.
The next morning, as he passed by, the attendant greeted him. Their voices were gentle, their smiles were warm. The same thing happened the day after that. And the day after that.
He didn't know how to respond.
Their presence unsettled him in a way he couldn't explain. Their voice lingered at the edges of his mind, their dark eyes seemed to hold something he wasn't ready to face. He didn't know what it was. Was it kindness? Pity? Recognition? Whatever it was, it made his chest tighten.
So, he avoided them.
But the more he tried to escape, the more their existence became entangled with his. The interactions were brief, barely more than exchanged glances and fleeting words, yet they felt heavier than they should.
It was terrifying.
It was comforting.
It was something he didn't understand.
And he chose not to understand this.
So, he gave it a name.
Fate.
An excuse. A mask. A way to convince himself that this, whatever this was. It was nothing more than a chance. Nothing meaningful. Nothing that could change anything. A moment of connection where he could simply exist. No overthinking, no burdens, no pain, just a brief escape where he can smile and feel genuine happiness.