Sebastian sat in his dimly lit apartment, a cigarette slowly burning between his fingers. The soft, warm glow of a small lamp was the only source of light, casting long shadows across the room. The apartment felt empty—minimalist to a fault, with bare walls and sparse furniture that seemed more utilitarian than comfortable. A worn couch sat against the wall, its fabric faded from years of use, and the coffee table in front of it held only a few scattered books and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts.

The air was thick with smoke, mingling with the scent of stale coffee and the remnants of takeout containers piled in the kitchen corner. Outside, the evening had settled in, but the blinds were drawn tight, shutting out the world beyond. The oppressive quiet was only broken by the occasional hum of traffic in the distance.

Sebastian took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember briefly illuminating his tired eyes. He exhaled a stream of smoke, watching it swirl in the dim light. Thoughts churned in his mind—questions about where his generation was headed, the weight of expectations, and the constant pressure to keep moving forward, even when everything felt stagnant.

The depressive atmosphere of the room mirrored his internal state: muted, worn down, but still holding on to that faint warmth, the tiny glow of the lamp fighting against the darkness.