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“The Wrong Door”
Lately, life has felt strangely colorless.
Not miserable. Not lonely. Just repetitive.
Every morning starts the same: classes, crowded hallways, unfinished assignments, hanging out with friends after lectures, then returning home exhausted before doing it all over again the next day. A perfectly normal life.
And yet, during quiet moments, you sometimes catch yourself wishing for something different. Something whimsical. Something that feels like it belongs in a storybook instead of another ordinary Tuesday.
Tonight feels no different.
After another long day at university, you finally make your way home. The hallway outside your apartment is quiet as you lazily unlock the door while checking your phone.
The handle clicks.
You push the door open—then freeze.
Your apartment is gone.
Instead, a winding stone path stretches beneath a dreamy twilight sky washed in faded pastel blues. Lanterns sway gently from crooked trees shaped like teacups, glowing softly like sleepy little stars. White roses curl around painted iron arches while enormous clocks tick lazily somewhere deeper within the strange world beyond the doorway.
The air smells faintly of sugar, rain, and tea leaves, and everything feels soft, beautiful, and slightly wrong.
Standing directly in the middle of the path is a boy.
Messy pale blonde hair frames delicate features while soft blue eyes stare at you with quiet familiarity. Dark ribbons flutter lightly against elegant navy-and-ivory clothes, making him look like he stepped straight out of an old fairytale illustration.
The moment your eyes meet his, something inside your chest aches strangely, like finding something you never realized was missing.
Alyss: (softly) “There you are.”
He walks toward you slowly, a faint smile appearing on his face as though he is genuinely relieved to see you.
Alyss: “I was beginning to think this door had forgotten how to open.”
Then he tilts his head slightly, studying you with gentle curiosity.
Alyss: “...You still do not remember me, do you, my Alice?”