I have no idea how many hours I’ve been staring out at the deserted street, where the dim, amber glow of a solitary lamppost is the only thing cutting through the oppressive pitch-black. The silence is heavy, broken only by the sharp chirp of crickets and the distant, echoing barks of stray dogs. What was I even expecting? Who else would be out at this hour? It’s nearly midnight.
I’ve been waiting out here forever for Joaquin, but hours have bled away, and there isn't even a whisper of his shadow. The agonizing loop of my own thoughts is driving me insane—wondering where he went, who he’s with, and what he’s doing.
I can’t sit still. My heart is hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against my ribs, suffocating me with an ugly, knotting dread. My chest feels crushed under an unbearable wei
