It was around 11:50 p.m. when we finally stepped back into the house, the quiet settling around us like a blanket after the gentle rustle of the garden. There wasn’t much left to do, so we naturally fell into the familiar rhythm of our generation—phones in hand, shoulders brushing, scrolling through the infinite loop of reels and memes. Every few minutes, a muffled laugh would break the silence as one of us leaned over to share something absurd or hilarious. The phones eventually lay abandoned beside us, forgotten, as conversation took over. We cracked jokes—on life, on people, on each other—until we were in that sweet, delirious state between midnight calm and friendly chaos.

After a while, it felt like tea time—logically, it wasn’t. It was midnight. Most people were curled up in bed or snoring like engines, but not us. The tea person inside each of us suddenly woke up like, “Hey, what’s life without a little caffeine-fueled chaos at 01:30 a.m.?” One look, and we both gave in—answering not just to each other, but to that dramatic inner voice that insists tea can solve everything, even sleep schedules.

Once again, he took charge of the process. I stood nearby, watching him move with quiet familiarity, occasionally adding in some help which  just to made the simple process more longer. The utensils hissed softly, and in the silence of midnight, even that small sound echoed like a secret.

With steaming cups in hand, we sipped slowly, exchanging quiet words and the occasional scroll. Time, in its usual trickster way, slipped past unnoticed. Before long, the clock showed 3:00 a.m., and we knew it was time. Another day awaited us—one that couldn’t be met with weary eyes and tired limbs. So, without much thought, we retired for the night, knowing sleep was the bridge to another great day.