The morning light felt cruelly bright. It poured through the blinds in thin slats, cutting across the bedroom floor like bars — imprisoning, not freeing. Daniel sat on the edge of his bed, half-dressed, staring at the untouched coffee cooling on the nightstand. He blinked once. Twice.
Everything around him felt distant.
His hands moved, but they didn’t feel like his. He saw himself walk to the shower, felt the sting of water on his skin — too hot, too cold — he couldn’t tell. He saw his reflection fogged in the mirror, pale and hollow-eyed. He put on his shirt, buttoned it wrong, then fixed it mechanically. He tied his tie, slipped into his blazer, walked to his car… all of it happening like a movie he couldn’t pause.
He drove to work. He sat at his desk. He spoke to people. He typed. H
