The quiet at midnight is like a blank page that wants you to write, but every time you pick up the pen you’re half convinced the ink is wrong, so you stare at the clock and let the thoughts pile up until the coffee finally takes its caffeine kick and you remember you’ve got a deadline tomorrow. In those moments I feel like a caffeine‑driven philosopher—half‑inspired, half‑scared, and absolutely determined to finish something before the sun even thinks about rising.