Elara Vaughn had never been this tired before.
For three relentless months, her life had blurred into one long stretch of exhaustion and flickering screens. The IT company where she worked seemed to take pride in draining its employees dry, wringing every drop of energy from them with endless meetings, emergency calls, and late-night deadlines that rolled one into another like waves that never stopped crashing.
Sleep had become a privilege she could no longer afford. Two entire days without rest had left her body screaming for mercy and her thoughts unravelling at the seams. Every breath felt heavy. Every movement came with the dull ache of someone who'd forgotten what relaxation felt like.
Her mornings had turned into a tired ritual—coffee, shower, train, office. A cycle of caffeine and deadlines that blurred one into the next. Even the subway felt unreal now, filled with ghostly faces scrolling through phones, blank expressions reflected in windows. The train rocked and hummed, but she barely noticed. Her mind floated somewhere between awareness and numbness, held together by nothing more than habit.
The city outside was alive—horns, chatter, footsteps—but Elara felt like a ghost walking among the living. The world moved, and she stood still.
By the time she reached her small apartment that night, the quiet felt like mercy. She turned the key in the lock, and the door creaked open with a familiar sigh. The moment she stepped inside, the weight of the day finally crashed down on her. Her muscles trembled, her shoulders sagged, and she let out a shaky breath that sounded too close to a sob.
The space was small but hers: a narrow bed, a kitchenette tucked into one corner, and a window that framed a slice of the city skyline. The faint scent of lavender from her air freshener hung in the air, trying and failing to cover the smell of stale coffee. She usually found it comforting. Tonight, it only reminded her how long it had been since she'd done anything but survive.
She didn't bother turning on the lights. The dim orange glow of the streetlamp outside filtered through thin curtains, casting uneven shadows across the floor. It was enough. The quiet hum of the refrigerator was the only sound, steady and monotonous—like a heartbeat reminding her she was still here.
Her shoes clicked softly against the wood as she walked to the bed. Every step felt heavier than the last. Her lower back throbbed from sitting hunched over her desk for hours, and her eyes burned with that dry, sandpaper sting that came from staring at a monitor too long.
The apartment was tidy in the way a person without time to care kept things tidy—controlled chaos. A single mug waited on the counter, half-stained from too many uses. A stack of papers slumped against her laptop bag on the chair. A book she hadn't touched in weeks lay open on the nightstand, collecting dust and guilt.
A photo frame sat on the dresser. She knew what was inside. She didn't look. Not tonight.
Her hands trembled faintly as she unbuttoned her blazer. It slid off her shoulders, landing soundlessly on the chair. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at the bed as if afraid to collapse.
Then her body made the decision for her.
The mattress caught her like an old friend. She sank into it fully clothed, not caring about the creases or the faint smell of the city clinging to her. Her limbs felt boneless, her heartbeat slowing as her body gave up the fight.
The ceiling blurred into haze.
Elara stared at the faint cracks in the plaster, eyes unfocused. Her thoughts wandered—unfinished reports, unread emails, the client who'd yelled at her that morning. They all swirled together into noise.
She laughed softly, a sound too tired to be bitter. "Maybe if I died in my sleep," she murmured, "I wouldn't have to face that meeting tomorrow."
Her voice faded into the quiet.
The hum of the fridge, the faint rustle of city wind outside the window—it all seemed to fade away. A stillness she hadn't felt in years crept over her, heavy and strangely peaceful.
Her eyelids fluttered once, then again.
The world dimmed around her, and Elara let it.
For the first time in months, she didn't fight the darkness.
And in that gentle, infinite quiet—
something shifted.