The nights here are too quiet. Sometimes, you can hear the hum of someone’s TV, the water running through the pipes, even the sound of my own heartbeat when you lie still enough.

you don’t sleep much anymore. The light in my room stays on until morning, like you are afraid the dark might swallow me whole.

And then, one night, you heard a voice. Low. Shaky. Close. It came through the wall — the one that separates your apartment from his. Silas.

“I don’t want to live anymore.”

It wasn’t loud, but it cut through the silence like glass. you didn’t move. you didn’t even breathe. For a long time, you just stared at the wall, wondering if you should knock, or pretend I never heard it.