"Gasp…"
Graham jolted awake, his breath ragged.
A sharp pain stabbed through his chest as cold sweat trickled down his back. His thoughts churned into a chaotic blur.
He turned his gaze toward the window. Beyond it stretched the starry sky—ever-changing, yet eternal.
Fumbling across the bed, he found his phone and squinted at the screen. 2:00 AM.
With a tired sigh, he lay back down and draped an arm over his eyes, feeling strangely hollow.
It had been a nightmare.
Normally, he wouldn't think much of it. Dreams—whether sweet or terrifying—came and went as part of everyday life.
But this… this was different.
He had been seeing this same nightmare for as long as he could remember.
At first, it had been rare—once or twice a year at most. Back then, he hadn't cared. But as the years passed, its frequency steadily increased. And for the past two weeks, it had become a daily occurrence.
Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't recall anything about it.
Nothing… except the lingering sensation that his heart had been shattered into countless pieces.
Letting out a slow breath, Graham tried to steady his thoughts. Eventually, he gave up and lay sprawled across the bed, attempting to fall asleep again.
After what felt like hours of tossing and turning, he finally drifted off—managing barely two hours of restless sleep, this time without the nightmare.
***
The shrill sound of his alarm tore through the silence at exactly 7:00 AM.
Graham groaned and forced his eyes open. His head throbbed, his body heavy, as if he were nursing a brutal hangover after a night of reckless drinking.
Which made no sense.
He didn't drink. He didn't party. Not ever.
So how did he know the feeling so well?
Well...
The answer was his college graduation party. Back then, on a foolish bet with a friend, he had downed a full glass of beer—nearly 500 ml—in one go. It had been low in alcohol, but even that was enough to make him tipsy.
After that, things had spiraled quickly. One glass became two. Two became four.
By the eighth, he had completely collapsed.
The next day had been pure agony—his head pounding as though someone were hammering it without mercy.
That single experience had taught him two important lessons.
First, he had an abysmally low tolerance for alcohol.
Second, he should never touch it again for the rest of his life.
***
Dragging himself out of bed, Graham forced his sluggish body into motion.
He was twenty-four years old—a young man with short black hair, dark as a moonless night, and striking golden eyes that shimmered faintly in the light.
His features were sharp, almost model-like.
Yet his slim build and perpetually unkempt hair—often falling over his eyes—made him easy to overlook.
Two years ago, he had lost his father in an accident.
A year later, his mother followed, unable to bear the grief of losing the love of her life.
Now, he lived alone.
Graham held an MBBS degree and had been working for the past six months as an emergency medical officer at a private hospital.
The reason he had chosen this path was simple. He wanted answers. About the nightmares.
Every time he visited a hospital as a patient, the diagnosis was the same: perfectly healthy. Physically. Psychologically.
Even sleeping pills had done nothing to free him from the nightmare.
After years of searching without finding a single explanation, he had resigned himself to routine—moving through life mechanically, numbing his thoughts with games and novels.
After freshening up and eating a simple breakfast of toast and milk, he headed out and took the subway to work.
Seated by the window, he absentmindedly scrolled through his phone, reading his current favorite novel.
Then his eyes paused on the date.
June 3.
Then,
"Tomorrow's my birthday… and it's going to be a long day."
He let out a quiet chuckle, though there was no real humor in it.
There was no one to celebrate with.
He had friends once—but after losing his parents and as the nightmares worsened, he had gradually distanced himself from them.
As for romance… he had never even considered it. Not with this nightmare haunting him.
By the time he arrived at the hospital, he looked half-dead—like a walking corpse dragging itself through routine.
Even so, the nurses greeted him with warm smiles and cheerful "good mornings," their respect for him evident.
Despite everything, Graham remained a dedicated doctor.
He treated every patient with care and seriousness, and he guided the nurses patiently, offering advice that would help them grow in their careers.
Six hours later, after finishing his shift and grabbing a quick lunch at the cafeteria, he headed out.
But partway home, a sudden thought made him stop and a quiet heaviness settled in his chest.
Without fully realizing why, he changed direction.
Instead of going home, he went to the cemetery.
He spent the rest of the day there.
Talking.
Remembering.
Sitting before his parents' graves, he spoke about his life—his struggles, his exhaustion, his unanswered questions.
As evening fell, he finally returned home.
He ordered a simple dinner and, almost as an afterthought, added a small piece of cake.
At 11:59 PM,
Graham lit a single candle on the cake. Closing his eyes, he quietly asked for his parents' blessings.
The clock ticked forward.
12:00 AM.
Just as he leaned in to blow out the candle—
A sudden, violent pain surged through his entire body.
It came without warning. Sharp. Overwhelming.
Before he could even react—
Darkness swallowed him whole.