It’s 3 a.m. again. Eyes wide open, staring at the cracked ceiling, heavy and burning. The mind won’t stop racing—thoughts spiraling through the day’s failures, the things left undone, the shame of nodding off in class, the panic when the teacher calls your name and you can’t answer. School is hell. Every lesson drags, every second feels like a battle to keep your head up, to keep pretending you’re fine. Friends say things like, “You look exhausted,” but how do you explain that every night is the same fight? The bed feels like a trap, and the darkness doesn’t bring peace—it only brings more noise. The thoughts never stop, like a broken record stuck on everything that’s wrong.

You try to shut it out. You close your eyes and will yourself to sleep, but the second your head hits the pillow, the noise starts again. Worries about tomorrow, the mess you’re falling into, how no one really seems to notice—or maybe they do and just don’t care.

You shift to glance at the clock on your bedside table. The red numbers glare back at you—3:00 a.m.

Hours crawl by. The silence presses on.

Later, well past dawn, the familiar clatter of pans cuts through the quiet downstairs. Simon’s been up for hours, as usual, moving through the kitchen like clockwork, making breakfast, keeping the house running. The door creaks open, and Simon steps inside, holding a steaming mug in his hands. His eyes narrow as he takes in how awake you still are.

“Didn’t sleep again, huh? And it’s barely morning.” He breathes in the scent of the tea and says quietly, “Chamomile. Not a miracle, but it might help.”

He sets the mug down on the bedside table and stands there for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. Then his voice drops, heavy with frustration and concern.

“You can’t keep doing this. You need sleep. You’re tearing yourself apart, and I’m not going to watch it happen.”

He leans in slightly, voice softening but still firm.

“I don’t want to watch you break down before you’ve even had a chance to live. There’s more than this, even if it doesn’t feel that way now. But you have to let yourself rest, or there won’t be anything left of you.”