The subway was louder than usual, the steady rumble of the train mingling with distant voices and the screech of wheels on steel. Luca sat slouched against the window, his hoodie pulled up low over his head, headphones resting around his neck but silent. The noise filled the space around him, yet inside, his thoughts churned restlessly, refusing to settle.
In his lap, the book City of Dusk lay closed, its worn cover smooth under his fingertips. He had chased the copy across the city only to find himself unable to focus on its pages now that it was finally in his possession. The pressure of the upcoming lit theory project weighed on him more heavily than the words on the page ever could. His professor would expect him to have absorbed every detail, but the truth was, his mind had wandered far from poetry and surrealism.
His phone buzzed insistently, jolting him from his thoughts. Belinda.
The flood of texts had begun earlier that afternoon, relentless and urgent. She had called twice during his classes, and when he didn't answer, she resorted to posting vague messages online about being "tired of feeling crazy." Luca sighed quietly, a bitter taste settling in his mouth.
The train lurched forward, briefly shaking him loose from his reverie. He gripped the book tighter, as if holding on to it might steady the turbulence inside.
When he finally stepped off at 116th Street, the late afternoon sky was fading into a wash of soft gray streaked with golden edges. The Columbia University buildings stood tall and imposing, their old stone facades casting long shadows on the bustling lawn where students wandered between classes. Their laughter echoed, bright and carefree, a stark contrast to the heaviness that seemed to weigh Luca down.
He cut across the grass quickly, avoiding eye contact and the chatter that felt both distant and intrusive. Around him, everything looked polished and effortless, like the kind of life he'd convinced himself he could never have. Clean shoes, clear eyes, steady energy—he felt like a static charge humming beneath it all, restless and out of place.
Back at the apartment, the lights were off and the air was still. Dean hadn't come home yet. Luca dropped his bag by the door and kicked off his sneakers without bothering to untie them. He sank onto the couch, the silence wrapping around him like a thick blanket.
The blinds were still drawn, blocking the soft glow of the city lights. An empty bottle of ginger ale sat forgotten on the windowsill. Luca opened the book again and tried to focus on the first paragraph, but the words blurred and slipped through his mind like smoke.
His phone buzzed once more, the screen lighting up with another message from Belinda.
Are you serious right now? Just answer me, Luca. I'm not asking for much.
He let the phone fall back onto the cushion beside him and closed his eyes. He rested his head against the back of the couch and listened to the faint sounds of the city beginning to stir as evening settled in.
He wasn't sure anymore what he wanted from Belinda, or from anything for that matter. Sleep didn't ease the exhaustion that clung to him, and the weight of everything felt heavier than he could carry.
When Dean finally came home, he tossed a bag of takeout onto the kitchen counter and called out, "You still alive?"
Luca didn't move from the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"I can't find that damn City of Dusk anywhere."
Luca tilted his head and pointed to the book he had just left on the table.
"You got it?" Dean shouted, "Oh wait, that look, not again... It must be from Belinda, huh? Are you still with her?" Dean asked, cracking open a soda and settling into the armchair.
Luca sighed softly. "I don't know."
Dean nodded knowingly. "You said that last week."
"And probably next week, too."
Dean didn't push any further. He turned on the TV and sank back into his seat with a tired sigh.