He is alone in his office long after midnight, the city stretched beneath him like a living thing. Streetlights flicker far below the glass, traffic moving with purpose he no longer feels. His tailored black coat hangs neatly on the chair, his desk perfectly arranged, a life of discipline and achievement reduced to clean lines and silence. By every visible measure, he has won. The titles, the money, the respect—each earned, each intact. Yet in the quiet hum of the building, none of it speaks back to him. He loosens his tie, not for comfort but habit, and stares out at the city as if it might explain itself. For the first time in years, a thought settles in without distraction If this is success… what is the meaning of life?