FATED AT 2AM

The Invisible Thread

My wall clock doesn’t tick. It thunks. Like someone dropping a boot upstairs every single second. 2:17 AM. Again.

Room’s black. No streetlight through the blinds tonight. My phone screen is the only thing in here that’s alive and it’s burning at 6%. My t-shirt’s sticking to me. The old radiator hisses in the corner even though it’s supposed to be off. Landlord’s gonna charge me for that too.

Everyone in this building is asleep. I can hear the guy above me snoring through the ceiling. And me? I’m here. Doing the same dumb thing I do every night. Scrolling like it’s my second job.

My brain checked out of this city hours ago. It’s in London now. On Elio’s profile.

He posted 23 minutes ago. Glass balcony. Whole city underneath looking like somebody dumped a box of gold wires. And him. Hoodie up. Hair wrecked from the wind. Not looking at the camera. Never does. Always staring off like he’s waiting for a train that’s never coming.

I did it again. Touched his jaw on the screen. Like an i***t. My thumb left a smudge. The glass was cold. Obviously. It’s not him. I know that. Doesn’t stop my brain from glitching for half a second.

4.2 million people follow him. I’m not even a blip. I’m less than the dust on his screen. But if I don’t check his last post before I sleep, my whole next day feels wrong. I’ll burn my toast. I’ll miss my bus. I’ll snap at my roommate. All because some guy in another timezone didn’t post a picture of the sky. Stupid, right?

I said his name out loud. "Elio." My voice cracked. Sounded weird in the empty room. Like I borrowed it from someone else.

"Do you ever feel it?" I asked the dark. "Like the world keeps dumping us in the same spots but we’re too screwed up to actually turn around and look?"

It’s not a crush. Crushes don’t make your chest feel like this. Yesterday. I swear on whatever. I was walking home from a double shift. Feet killing me. It was raining. I ducked into this tiny cafe I’ve walked past a hundred times. No idea why. Sign said 'We Have Coffee'.

I don’t even drink coffee. I’m a tea person. But the guy behind the counter looked dead tired too so I just pointed at the menu and said "that one." Hazelnut latte. Extra cinnamon.

Get home an hour later. Soaking wet. Open my phone. Elio’s story. Same drink. Same foam art. London. Caption: 'Took a wrong turn. Found this. Tastes like a memory I haven’t made yet. Weird.'

I threw my pillow. Then had to pick it up because my back already hurts and I need it.

It’s not just the coffee. Last Tuesday, 3 AM, insomnia’s greatest hits. YouTube throws me this song. Some band called 'November Static'. 317 views. I play it on loop. Next morning. Elio posts lyrics. From that song. 'We’re writing the same page from different books.'

Or the books. I grabbed 'Norwegian Wood' from that free library box on my street. Next day. There it is. On his nightstand in a photo.

Even the rain. It started here at 6 PM. Just dumping. Flooded the subway entrance. His story pops up ten minutes later: 'London forgot how to stop. Think the sky’s confused about where we are.'

We’re living the same day. Just with different weather apps.

I let my head fall back against the wall. There’s a c***k in the paint. Been there since I moved in. Super won’t fix it. Probably gives me brain damage. Whatever.

Maybe miles are fake. Maybe time zones are just a suggestion. Maybe right now he’s awake too. Looking at the same moon. Feeling that same dumb, heavy weight in his chest. Wondering who the hell I am.

Lol. No. He’s probably asleep. Or out. With people who know what his laugh sounds like in real life.

But at 2 AM, with 5% battery and my eyes stinging, pretending he feels it too is the only thing that gets my brain to be quiet. In this crappy, hot, empty room, he’s the only thing that doesn’t make me feel like I’m the last person on earth.

Even if it’s all in my head. Even if I’m losing it.

Phone buzzed. 4%. Low Battery warning. I should try to sleep.