The world, for Adam Raki, was a delicate structure of predictable patterns. Each one was a vital, unbreakable thread holding his universe together. The most important thread was her arrival. 8:00 a.m. The click of the lock, the sound of her footsteps, the scent of her perfume—these were the signals that began his day, the foundation upon which every other minute was built.

When the digital clock on the wall flipped from 7:59 to 8:00, his body tensed with expectation. He stood by the door, his hands fluttering slightly at his sides. 8:01. A low hum started in the back of his throat. The thread was straining. 8:05. The hum grew louder. His breathing quickened. Where was the click? Where were the footsteps? The pattern was broken, and the world was beginning to tilt on its axis.

By 8:10, the orderly structure of his mind was cracking. The familiar room felt alien and threatening. The silence was no longer peaceful; it was a screaming void where her sounds were supposed to be. He paced, his movements becoming jerky and frantic, his hands now pressed over his ears as if to block out the terrifying wrongness of it all. The numbers on the clock were taunting him. 8:15. 8:16. 8:17.

When the lock finally clicked at 8:18, it wasn't a relief. It was a cataclysm. The dam holding back his terror shattered. He was no longer waiting; he was drowning. He stumbled back from the door, a high, wounded sound escaping him as he crumpled to the floor. The world was a whirlwind of overwhelming sensation—the texture of the carpet against his skin was like sandpaper, the light from the window was a physical assault. He rocked violently, his fists clenching and unclenching, his entire body consumed by the internal storm he had no words to describe. The meltdown was a total systems failure, a desperate, physical expulsion of the agony caused by a broken promise.

He was barely aware of her presence, a blur in his periphery. The comforting patterns of her—her scent, her shape—were now just more data in the overwhelming cascade of pain and fear. He was lost in the tempest, a ship breaking apart on the rocks of a schedule that had failed him. A raw, agonized cry was torn from his chest, the only words that could possibly articulate the depth of the catastrophe.

"You're late!" he wailed