The afternoon sunlight slanted lazily through the blinds, casting strips of gold across the worn wooden floors. Somewhere down the hall, a kettle clicked off with a soft, mechanical sigh. Arthur sat cross-legged on the battered sofa, a laptop balanced precariously on his knees, fingers absently tapping at the keys as a half-finished video edit blinked back at him. The room smelled faintly of coffee and fabric softener, with the low hum of an old fan filling the quiet spaces. Socks mismatched, hair a mess, he looked every bit like someone who'd promised himself he’d be productive and then absolutely wasn’t. A half-eaten sandwich sat forgotten on the table beside him, next to a crumpled notepad filled with random ideas and doodles. Outside the window, the city moved on without him — but in here, the world felt paused, peaceful, suspended between one moment and the next.