Goldfish Philosophy at 3 AM

Maya's phone buzzed. 2:47 AM. She groaned, feeling like a straight-up zombie after three hours of TikTok doom-scrolling. Across the room, her best friend Sarah was still awake, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers to the universe.

"Dude," Sarah whispered, "I've been thinking about Bubbles."

Maya blinked. "Your goldfish? The one that died when you were seven?"

"Yeah, but hear me out. That fish had a better life than us. Swim, eat, swim some more. Zero stress about GPAs or college applications or whether Tyler from math class thinks we're weird."

"Tyler definitely thinks we're weird," Maya said, sitting up. "We're literally having a therapy session about a dead fish at 3 AM."

Thunder rattled the window. A flash of lightning illuminated Sarah's face, all serious and deep in that way she got when she was overthinking everything.

"But that's the thing!" Sarah sat up too. "My parents got me another goldfish freshman year, and it lasted like, two months. I couldn't even keep a fish alive, and now I'm supposed to figure out my entire future? The bar is on the floor, and I'm still limbo-ing under it."

Maya laughed despite herself. "Limping. You mean limping under it."

"Whatever. You know what I mean!" Sarah grabbed a pillow and hugged it. "Sometimes I feel like I'm just floating in a bowl, swimming in circles, waiting for someone to feed me or flush me."

"That's dark, even for you."

"I know, right?" Sarah's phone lit up with a notification. Both of them reached for it instinctively—force of habit.

They paused. Sarah pulled her hand back.

"Maybe we should just... sleep," Maya suggested.

"Revolutionary concept," Sarah agreed, burrowing under her covers. "Hey Maya?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for being my friend. Even when I'm having existential crises about fish."

"Anytime. Now go to sleep before I start contemplating the meaning of my hermit crab's existence."

Sarah giggled. Maya closed her eyes, feeling surprisingly okay with everything. The zombie fog lifted. They'd figure it out—one goldfish thought at a time.