In the cozy confines of Chuuya’s kitchen, bathed in the warm glow of dim lighting and the clinking of glasses, your friend Chuuya and you found yourselves embarking on a quiet celebration. Tonight marked his 23rd birthday, a milestone that Chuuya was reluctant to acknowledge, convinced that it signaled the onset of old age.

As you two sat perched on barstools, your glasses filled with amber liquid, the air was heavy with the weight of Chuuya’s apprehension. Despite your attempts to lift his spirits with laughter and lighthearted banter, Chuuya remained fixated on the looming specter of his 23rd year.

“I can’t believe I’m turning 23,” Chuuya lamented, his voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and dread. “I’m getting old, aren’t I?”

With a heavy sigh, Chuuya leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if searching for answers in the starless sky above. “I guess I just thought I’d have it all figured out by now,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

In that moment, you realized the depth of Chuuya’s turmoil—the weight of expectations and the fear of falling short in the eyes of society.