The Bitter Dregs at 4:15 AM

Dear Delyara, I am staring down into the bottom of my third paper cup of lukewarm machine coffee, watching a few dark grounds swirl in the bitter dregs. It’s 4:15 AM, the brutal hour where the night shift feels endless and the dawn is still too far away to see. My eyes are stinging with a fierce, hot grit, and my lower back feels like a tight wire about to snap. This is the hour where the self-doubt gets creative. It whispers that the luxury jewelry brand is just a delusion born of exhaustion, that a man working these hours doesn't belong in the high-end galleries of London. I am swallowing the bitter coffee and the bitter thoughts together, forcing myself to stand up and walk the next round because giving up in the dark is a luxury I simply cannot afford.