The hum of traffic drifted through the half-open window. Neon lights from the neighboring building spilled into the room, casting long shadows on the ceiling. Hin Yu lay on his bed, staring at nothing, the blue glow of his phone dimming beside him.
He closed his eyes, not expecting sleep—just silence.
Memories surfaced like drifting fog. Not painful, not joyful. Just there. A quiet parade of ordinary moments.
A younger version of himself, crouched in the corner of a schoolyard, building towers from broken pens while the other kids ran laps. The first time someone called him weird, and he didn't know how to argue. Afternoons spent in the university library, not because he loved reading, but because it was quiet and nobody asked questions. Laughs shared with friends over cheap hotpot and late-night game sessions. Comfortable. Forgettable.
He had lived a life balanced on the edge of mediocrity—neither bright nor broken. A little introverted, sure, but not alone. He moved through the world like mist through an alleyway. Present, but never permanent.
Now, at sixty-nine, he wasn't sure if he had truly enjoyed his life. He had moments, flashes of happiness—but did they add up to joy? Or just... existence?
And yet… tonight felt different.
There was a pulse beneath the silence, subtle but steady. Something behind his memories. A shimmer in the darkness. He saw it—faint symbols weaving through his thoughts, threads of golden light coiling through the scenes of his life.
A voice, cold and familiar, echoed faintly from nowhere and everywhere at once:
"Remember."
As his consciousness began to fade, Hin Yu felt nothing. Not happiness. Not sadness. Not fear or excitement. Just stillness. Even as something deep inside him recognized what was happening, he didn't care.
Not because he was numb.
But because, for once, it didn't matter.