Timothy woke to light leaking through the edge of the curtains, pale and steady, not the harsh glare of a weekday morning. For a moment he did not move. He lay still, listening to the low hum of the city outside his apartment. A distant horn. The muted sound of tires on asphalt. Someone upstairs dragging a chair across the floor.
His phone sat on the bedside table, screen dark.
That alone felt strange.
He checked the time anyway. Just after seven. Early, but not aggressively so. His body had not learned how to sleep in. He accepted that and sat up, feet touching the cool floor.
Sunday.
He said the word silently like he was testing whether it still applied to him.
