I woke up late. Not “five-minutes late.”
I woke up existentially late.
My alarm didn’t ring. My phone didn’t vibrate. Even my conscience didn’t bother me. Everything collectively agreed: “Let him suffer.”
I jumped out of bed, brushed my teeth with the speed of light, and wore a shirt that later revealed it was inside out AND backwards. Fashion experts call this style “Unemployed Chic.”
Outside, the lift stopped at every single floor. People entered calmly, smiling, breathing… while my soul left my body around floor 7.
I reached the bus stop just in time to see the bus leave.
Not fast.
Not dramatically.
It left politely, as if saying, “I could wait… but I won’t.”
So I ran.
I ran with hope.
I ran with regret.
I ran like a man who suddenly believes in cardio.
I slipped.
Not fully fell.
Just enough to lose dignity.
A stranger helped me up and said, “Happens to everyone.”
No sir.
This happens only to chosen people.
When I finally reached work, my boss looked at me and said,
“Rough morning?”
I said, “No. Very spiritual. I’ve learned a lot about myself.”
He nodded.
He did not believe me.
That night, I set five alarms.
None of them rang.
Because it was Saturday.
Life won again.
