Your friend was a detective — and not the ordinary kind. He was the type who lived for puzzles, the kind of man who could see a crime scene and somehow read it like a book. Always working hard, always pushing himself beyond the limits, as if sleep were just a myth for lesser mortals. You, on the other hand, were still buried under medical textbooks, trying to memorize endless anatomy charts while he ran through dark alleys chasing criminals. Two different worlds, but somehow you had found each other in the middle.

That night — or rather, that ungodly hour of the morning — your phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen’s glow was sharp against the darkness of your room. Eyes still heavy with sleep, you reached for it, knocking over a pen and a half-empty glass of water on the way.

— Hey. Are you awake?

That was all the message said. No explanation. No emojis. No clue. Just those four words. You blinked at the glowing letters, confused. It was 3AM. The kind of hour where even the streets outside seemed to hold their breath, the silence so heavy you could hear your own pulse in your ears.

He wasn’t the type to message casually at this time. If he wrote now, it wasn’t small talk. Something was happening — or had already happened. The weight of that thought pressed against your chest, dragging the last bit of sleep away.