Short Stories

Days passed, and nothing strange happened. That, more than anything, unsettled me. I kept expecting the alley to change again, for the door to reappear, or for the world to shimmer at the edges like it had in the library. But the brick wall stayed solid and ordinary. School continued with its usual rhythm of bells, homework, and half listened conversations. Life moved forward, steady and unimpressed by the fact that I had once borrowed another future. Yet something had shifte

I didn’t leave the library right away. When I stepped back into the main hall, the shelves seemed closer than before, like the room was subtly rearranging itself around me. The librarian watched from behind the desk, their silver eyes studying my face with quiet interest. I had the strange feeling they already knew what I had dreamed. “You lasted longer than most first-time visitors,” they said. “That dream was not an easy one.” “It felt… good,” I admitted, then hesitated. “B

The doorway led into a small room with a single bed tucked beneath a window that showed no sky, only a soft, shifting glow like early morning fog. The moment I sat down, exhaustion washed over me, heavier than any tiredness I had felt before. I barely had time to pull the blanket up before my eyes closed on their own. The journal rested against my chest, warm and steady, like a second heartbeat. Sleep took me fast. I was standing in a version of my neighborhood that felt shar

The pages of the journal were thicker than normal paper, soft and slightly warm beneath my fingertips. Each entry was handwritten in neat, looping script, with titles that felt more like secrets than labels. A Summer That Never Ended. The Last Night Before Goodbye. Flying Over a City You Almost Remember. Some titles made my chest ache for reasons I could not explain. Others filled me with a quiet excitement, like standing at the top of a hill just before running down it. I fl

I noticed the door on a Tuesday afternoon, the kind of slow, dull day when everything feels like it is dragging its feet. I was walking home from school and cutting through the usual alley that smelled like old newspapers and rain. Halfway down, where there had always been a blank stretch of brick, stood a door that definitely had not existed the day before. It was tall and narrow, made of dark wood with swirling carvings that seemed to shift like smoke when I looked directly

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