After two hours of studying Zack finally managed to go to sleep. In his dream, Zack is a small child again, sitting cross-legged on the living room rug while his mother reads aloud from a picture book. The memory is vivid and warm– the scent of lavender air freshener mingling with the sound of his mother's gentle voice. "Look at this drawing sweetheart," she says softly, pointing to an illustration of a smiling sunflower. "Don't you think it looks happy?" Young Zack nods enthusiastically, tracing the lines with his finger. "It is my favorite flower!" His mother smiles, her dark hair catching the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window. "Then we should plant some in our garden this summer. Maybe we can find seeds at the market." The scene shifts suddenly– his father enters through the front door carrying groceries, calling out tiredly from the foyer. "I am home! Did my two favorite people have a good day?"
Young Zack beams up at his mother, his small face lighting up with pure joy. "Daddy's home," he exclaims, scrambling to his feet to run toward his father's embrace. His mother set aside the picture book with a loving smile, rising gracefully to greet her husband. "Welcome home, dear," she says warmly, accepting his kiss before turning to watch their son launch himself into Daddy's legs. In his dream, Zack, his mother and his father settled around the kitchen table for dinner– a simple meal of fried rice and vegetables prepared with care by his mother. Zack remembers every detail vividly– the way his father ruffled his hair after washing up from work, the taste of homemade food, his mother's laughter when he accidentally spilled sauce on his shirt. These memories feel real enough to touch, smell, and hear despite being decades old.
Zack bolts upright in bed, gasping as the vivid dream of his mother fades like smoke. Sweat beads on his forehead, and his heart pounds against his ribs as if he has just run a marathon. The empty space beside him feels colder than usual, more noticeable now that Anna's presence is a tangible absence. "Damn it," he mutters under his breath, rubbing his temples to clear the remaining fragments of the memory. Dreams about his mom rarely visit anymore; they usually surface when he is stressed or feeling particularly vulnerable. Glancing at the alarm clock on his bedside table, he sees it is only four thirty in the morning. Too early to go back to sleep, especially with the residual ache of loneliness gnawing at him. "Fuck," he whispers into the silence of his room. "I hate waking up like this."
Zack's stomach lets out a loud growl, reminding him sharply that he skipped dinner entirely in favor of sulking over Anna's departure and then attempting to study history. The realization hits him like a punch to the gut– he is hungry, exhausted, and emotionally drained from dreaming about his mother. "Great," he grumbles aloud to his empty room, throwing the dark blue covers off his legs. "Now I am starving and can't go back to sleep because my stomach thinks it is breakfast time." He swings his feet to the floor and pads across the cold hardwood toward the kitchen. The digital clock on the microwave glares accusingly: 4:35 AM. Too early for even food delivery options, and he definitely doesn't have anything worth eating in this bare refrigerator. Opening the fridge anyway reveals only condiments, a carton of expired milk, and some questionable leftovers from last week's pizza order.
Zack slams the refrigerator door shut in disgust, the sound echoing through the silent apartment. "Fantastic," he mutters to himself, running a hand through his messy blond hair. His stomach growls again insistently, demanding something more substantial than cold cereal or stale chips. The idea of driving to a twenty-four-hour convenience store for instant noodles sounds appealingly pathetic. "Fine, I will just go to that all-night diner down the street," he decides out loud, already heading toward his bedroom to change into jeans and a sweatshirt. "At least their coffee is passable." As he pulls on socks and boots, his mind wanders inevitably back to Anna. He wonders if she sleeps soundly knowing she has him nearby even if she can't physically reach out. The thought brings a small smile to his face despite his hunger and lingering sadness from the dream.
Zack grabs his car keys from the hook by the door, shoving them into his pocket alongside his worn brown leather wallet. He goes into the garage through the kitchen and climbs into his beat-up black car, which starts with a grinding noise that suggests it might not last another winter. As he backs out of the driveway, tires crunching against gravel, he glances toward Anna's house down the street. Her windows are dark except for a faint glow from what might be a nightlight or alarm clock. The drive to the diner takes less that five minutes along empty city streets. the parking lot was mostly deserted except for a few trucks belonging to overnight shift workers. The diner was located on a corner and was surrounded by tall red-brick buildings. It has a retro, vintage appearance, with a large, eye-catching sign shaped like a coffee cup. The dark grey roof and dark blue exterior walls was easily seen under the bright streetlights. The windows are evenly spaced and framed in white, allowing glimpses of the interior.
At the front a metal door with a small window and posted notices or menus attached to it, welcomed Zack inside, where the familiar aroma of greasy bacon and stale coffee fill the air conditioning system's recycled atmosphere. The left wall was lined with a row of green vinyl booth seats paired with white tabletops. Each booth was neatly arranged with basic dining settings– napkin holders, salt and pepper shakers, and cutlery. The bar like counter was topped with a light-coloured surface and lined with green, round swivel stools with metal bases. The only customer seated there was an old man, wearing a cap and sitting hunched slightly forward, eating a meal. Behind the counter, the wall featured a menu board with chalk written test, listing food items and specials. There are also shelves, a coffee machine and other diner essentials. The walls were decorated with framed photos and memorabilia. Zack boots echoed on the polished, dark wood floors.