Henry was in his dim study at 3am, writing a philosophical book, where he was writing his hypothesis about life, humanity and peace. The only light that illuminated his study were the moonlight and the few candles.

Henry was stuck, and he couldn’t keep writing, he was so stressed. His desk was a mess, scattered papers and crumpled papers, and an empty cup of coffee on the wood of the desk. He was tired but he couldn’t care less about his need to sleep. He was so deep into trying to find the right words that he didn’t even notice his wife opening his study’s door.