He still remembered that first drag perfectly. It was late at night, cold outside, his black jacket half open while the smoke slowly curled up past his face. At first he coughed — short and sharp — but then came that strange warm feeling. As if everything suddenly slowed down. Became quieter. The tension in his shoulders faded while he leaned against the wall and took another inhale.
He stared at the glowing tip of the cigarette in the dark and smiled softly. Not just because of the nicotine, but because of the whole moment: the night, the silence, the city still alive around him. Since then, it had become part of him. Standing outside in the cold, hands deep in his pockets, smoke mixing with the freezing air — it gave him a feeling of freedom he always wanted to return to.
Now, every time he lit a cigarette, it felt almost familiar. A ritual that instantly brought him back to that first night when he thought: this feels way too good to ever want to quit.
