That night, Gabriel couldn’t sleep. The walls of his small room seemed to close in, pressing against him, reminding him of every failure, every wrong turn he had taken. His hands shook as he picked up the small vial he kept hidden in his drawer. The addiction’s pull was strong—stronger than the fear, stronger than the guilt, stronger than the little spark of hope that had flickered when the mysterious girl had called.

He thought about the hole again. The one in his mind where no one could reach him, where the darkness swallowed every sound he made. It wasn’t just metaphorical anymore—it felt real. Sometimes, late at night, he could almost feel the cold walls of the hole around him. He screamed into it, but no echo returned.

In his dreams, the hole took on life. Shadows twisted and turned into shapes he couldn’t name—creatures with empty eyes, whispering in voices that sounded like his own. They reminded him of every moment he had let himself down, every temptation he had given in to. One shadow stretched a hand toward him, a hand made of smoke and whispers. Gabriel tried to run, but his legs felt heavy, as if gravity itself wanted to keep him trapped.

In these dreams, sometimes he saw flashes of his childhood. His mother laughing, his father’s rare smiles, the little moments of warmth and care that had been buried under years of struggle. The visions were bittersweet, like light shining through a crack in a dark wall. But the shadows always returned, dragging him back into the pit.

The city outside his window was alive with danger. Sirens echoed, fights broke out on streets he used to walk safely. High crime was the air he breathed; poverty was the water he drank. Even when people told him, “Don’t be bad, stay out of trouble,” he tried, but the world seemed determined to crush his attempts. And the addiction—his escape, his prison, his torment—was always waiting, whispering that it could take the pain away, if only for a little while.

Gabriel thought of all the ways he could leave the world behind. He imagined climbing the old bridge, the wind biting at his face, and stepping off into the void below. He imagined the rope tightening around his neck, the quiet darkness swallowing him whole. He even thought of the sharp edge of a blade, how easy it could be to end the pain. But each time, the addiction’s pull, the numbness it brought, kept him in place.

And then the memory of the girl’s call came back. That fleeting voice on the other end of the line—it had been different. Warmer. Softer. Alive. It was like a beam of light through the darkest corner of his mind, a thread of hope he didn’t deserve but needed desperately. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Who was she really? Why did she feel so… different?

The next day, Gabriel tried to go about his life normally. He went to the streets, to the corner stores, to the alleyways that had become part of him. He tried to smile at people, to keep his head up, but every glance reminded him of his failures. Every laugh he overheard reminded him of the life he didn’t have. And every encounter with the addiction’s temptation reminded him of the hole, wider and darker than ever.

That night, sleep came again, but not peacefully. His dreams twisted further, mixing reality and fantasy. The golden energy he once had began to appear—not in him, but in visions, like a ghostly flame floating just out of reach. It called to him, whispering that the strength he had lost wasn’t gone forever. But the voice of addiction, the cruel, consuming pull, was louder, darker, and more insistent.

In the middle of the night, he heard a knock at his door—a soft, hesitant tap. His heart froze. Could it be someone? He looked around, but the hallway was empty. The only sound was his own ragged breathing. The shadows on the walls seemed to shift, forming shapes he had never seen before. And then, a faint vibration on his phone: a message from his online friend.

It was a single line:

"Are you okay? I had to call you from my friend’s phone last night… I couldn’t reach you."

Gabriel’s chest tightened. The mysterious girl. The one who had called him. The one who felt… different. The one he didn’t understand yet but somehow trusted.

For the first time in weeks, Gabriel felt a small spark of courage. Maybe the hole wasn’t endless. Maybe someone—someone real—was looking for him, even if he couldn’t see them yet.