The alarm buzzed at six in the morning, but Malissa had already been awake for hours. Sleep had become something distant, something she remembered but rarely experienced anymore. She lay on the couch staring at the ceiling, her mind running through numbers, bills, and deadlines until the alarm finally forced her to move.
Her bed was no longer for rest. It was buried under unpaid bills, hospital receipts, and her father's case files.
Papers had replaced sleep. And worry had replaced dreams.
She dragged herself up and walked to the mirror in the small bathroom. Her reflection looked tired and pale, shadows under her eyes betraying nights spent working overtime and worrying about things she could not fix quickly enough.
She dabbed concealer under her eyes, tied her hair back neatly, and stared at herself for a moment.
"Just one more day," she whispered softly. "You can do this."
But the next day came, and then another, and another after that. Days began to blur into weeks, and weeks into a long stretch of exhaustion.
Aurora Publishing was already buzzing when she arrived that morning. Phones rang, keyboards clicked, and conversations floated through the open office space. People talked about weekend plans, movies, and vacations. Malissa walked quietly to her desk and sat down, opening her computer immediately.
Her team leader, Mrs. Grant, spotted her within minutes.
"Malissa," she called sharply, dropping a stack of printed episode scripts and layout draft on her desk. "These episodes need dialogue editing and proofreading and panel layout corrections before tomorrow. And do not forget the weekly release schedule report. I will present it to management next week."
Malissa nodded quietly, though her stomach sank. She had already edited half those episodes last week, but Mrs. Grant would take the credit again like she always did.
"Yes, ma'am," Malissa replied softly.
Hours blurred into edits and corrections. Dialogue. Layouts. Deadlines.
The work didn't stop. And neither did she.
Her eyes burned. From staring at the screen for too long.
Her fingers cramped from typing.
But she kept working.
At noon, her coworkers went out for lunch together. Malissa stayed at her desk and drank water instead. She told herself she was too busy to eat, but the truth was she was trying to save money.
At three in the afternoon, she made a small mistake. A typo in a dialogue bubble slipped past her tired eyes.
Mrs. Grant noticed immediately.
"Do you want us to miss the episode release deadline?" she snapped loudly in front of everyone. "Pay attention, Malissa. If you cannot handle simple dialogue editing, maybe I should give your tasks to someone else."
Her cheeks burned as her coworkers pretended not to listen. She lowered her head and apologized quietly.
"I'll fix it."
She could not afford to lose this job. No matter how unfair things were, she had to endure.
By evening, the office slowly emptied, lights turning off one by one. But Malissa remained at her desk, working through the night. She edited episodes, prepared the weekly report, and organized files until her vision blurred and her neck ached.
Around midnight, she fell asleep at her desk without realizing it. She woke up when the janitor gently tapped her shoulder.
"Still here?" he asked kindly.
She forced a tired smile. "Deadlines."
Days began to repeat themselves. Work. Overtime. Night shifts. Hospital visits. Bills. Rejections. Exhaustion.
She stopped counting how many hours she slept.
Because it was never enough.
Back at home, Malissa spread her bills across the small table in her apartment. Rent. Electricity. Hospital fees. Medicine. Transport. Food. Each number felt like a weight pressing down on her chest.
She opened her drawer slowly and pulled out her BTS merchandise. Albums, posters, photocards, and her cherished lightstick. These were things she had collected over years, pieces of happiness from a life that felt very far away now.
She ran her fingers over the albums and smiled sadly.
"I am sorry," she whispered softly.
She packed them carefully into a box and listed them online for sale. Within hours, fans began messaging her, eager to buy the items. The money trickled in slowly. It was not enough, but it was something.
By the middle of the week, she pawned her jewelry. Small pieces she had received as birthday gifts over the years.
She sold what she could. Then what she shouldn't. And when there was nothing to sell, she started sacrificing herself.
Meals became optional. Rest became luxury. Survival became the only goal.
Malissa stared at the unfinished sketch on her tablet screen. A character she had created months ago looked back at her, frozen in a story that would probably never be finished.
She closed the file slowly.
Dreams could wait. Bills could not.
One by one, pieces of her life disappeared. Her tablet. Her laptop. Even the things she once loved.
She skipped meals to save money. She walked long distances instead of taking transport. She worked double night shifts at a small café near her apartment. She slept only a few hours each night.
Exhaustion settled deep into her bones, but she kept moving forward because stopping was not an option.
She asked her boss for a salary advance, but he shook his head.
"Company policy," he said apologetically. "I cannot approve that."
She applied for a loan, but the bank rejected her application. She called relatives she had not spoken to in years, but they all had excuses.
"I wish I could help."
"Things are tight right now."
"Maybe next time."
Every answer sounded the same.
At the start of the second week, the hospital called again.
Her mother's condition was not improving, and the doctor wanted to continue treatment immediately.
Malissa arrived at the hospital, the doctor handed her a list of medicines and treatment costs.
"Your mother's condition is worsening," he said gently. "She needs these medications immediately, and we need to continue treatment without interruption."
Malissa looked at the list. And for a moment, she couldn't breathe. The prices were more than she had expected.
The hospital demanded a deposit before continuing treatment. Without payment, treatment would pause.
A nurse pulled her aside quietly. "Please try to make the payment soon. We cannot continue without authorization."
Her mother lay in bed looking weak and tired. When she saw Malissa, she forced a small smile and reached for her hand.
"I am sorry, Malissa," her mother said softly. "I am becoming a burden."
Malissa forced a smile even though her eyes filled with tears.
"Do not say that," she replied. "You will be fine. I will fix everything."
That night, she locked herself in the hospital bathroom. And broke. Quietly.
She washed her face, looked at herself in the mirror, and forced herself to calm down.
Because even now, she couldn't afford to fall apart.
She ate vending machine food, slept in a chair beside her mother's bed, and whispered promises into the quiet hospital nights.
"I will save you, Mom. I swear I will."
Two days later, she met with another lawyer about her father's appeal case.
She sat across from him, hands clenched tightly in her lap.
"Please," she said.
"He is innocent." Her voice was steady. Her hands were not.
He was framed. She had documents and witness statements. She just needed someone to take the case.
The lawyer looked through the documents slowly and then shook his head.
"The appeal is expensive. The case is difficult. It is also a very high profile case. I cannot risk my reputation and my firm's resources without guarantee of success."
She pleaded again, tears in her eyes. "Please. I will pay. I am saving money."
"I am sorry," the lawyer said. "I cannot take this case."
Another door closed.
She went home that night and read through old case files again, highlighting notes, reading witness statements, and trying to find something, anything that could help her father.
By the end of the second week, Malissa felt like she was running out of time.
She visited her father again, hoping for reassurance, but instead she left feeling even more responsible for everything.
She sat across from him, holding his hand through the barrier.
"Stop wasting money on me," he said firmly. "Focus on your life. Take care of your mother. Do not spend your future on my past."
But Malissa shook her head stubbornly.
"I will clear your name," she said. "I promise."
As the third week approached, nothing became easier. In fact, everything seemed to be getting worse.
She worked until her body ached, sold what she owned, skipped meals, and begged for help, trying everything she could think of.
Yet every effort met rejection.
Every door slammed shut.
Malissa realized something was wrong.
No matter how hard she tried, every door she knocked on remained closed.
It was as if someone was quietly making sure she had nowhere left to go.
That night, Malissa sat alone at her table, her head resting on her arms, bills scattered around her like broken pieces of a life she was trying desperately to hold together.
No matter how hard she fought, the world kept shutting her out.
And somewhere above the city…
someone was already deciding just how far she would fall.