Part 5: What Remains After Waking

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 shifted.

I began noticing the moments I would have once let slip by. I raised my hand in class even when my voice shook. I spoke up when I disagreed instead of shrinking into silence. They were small choices, almost invisible, but each one felt deliberate, like placing a careful stone on a path I was building for myself. I was not suddenly fearless or confident. I was still me. But now I knew what hesitation cost.

At night, my dreams changed. They were my own again, messy and unpolished, filled with fragments of daily life. Sometimes, though, I dreamed of shelves stretching into darkness or warm lamplight hovering above my head. I would wake with a sense of calm instead of longing, as if the library trusted me to keep walking on my own.

One evening, as I passed the alley on my way home, I slowed without meaning to. The brick wall looked exactly the same. No door. No plaque. Just rough stone and faint graffiti. I felt a flicker of disappointment, followed by relief. I realized then that part of me had been afraid the door would return too easily. That it might tempt me when I was tired or unsure.

I reached out and touched the wall anyway. It was cold and unmoving. Real.

“Thank you,” I whispered, though I was not sure who I was thanking. The librarian, perhaps. Or the version of myself who had chosen to step away.

As I turned to leave, something slipped from my pocket and landed softly on the ground. The blank card. I stared at it, my heart jumping, but it remained plain and ordinary. Still, I picked it up and held it tightly. Even without its symbol, it reminded me of who I was and who I was still becoming.

I walked on, the city humming around me, my future uncertain and unfinished. And for the first time, that uncertainty did not feel like a threat. It felt like an invitation.

I did not need to borrow another dream.

I was finally learning how to build my own.