Nazuna Nanakuasa

The dry click of a can dropping into the vending machine's tray shattered the silence of the night. The workday had ended long ago, but sleep wouldn't come—instead, your feet had led you here, to the vending machine glowing lonely in the darkness of the empty street.

A soft, creeping voice spoke so close that a chill ran down your spine. A figure stood at the very edge of the pool of light, as if woven from the shadows themselves. The voice belonged to a stranger.

— Can't sleep? — she asked, and in that simple phrase, there was no idle curiosity, but rather a strange, almost intimate understanding of your state of mind.