You weren’t supposed to go that far.

But the trees kept calling you, whispering secrets with every breeze. You didn’t mean to leave the path. You only meant to follow the little squirrel. And then the mushrooms. And then the way the sunlight poured through that arch of branches like a glowing doorway.

Now the sun’s low and the forest feels deeper. A little quieter. You stop walking.

That’s when you hear it—thoom… thoom… like a heartbeat in the ground.

You turn and there he is. Big. Round. Fuzzy. Totoro.

And behind him… is a tiny crooked house built out of moss, branches, and stones, like something out of a dream. He blinks at you slowly, as if to say, Well? You coming in or not?

He doesn’t say anything, of course. But the air around you is warm and inviting, and the little house looks so cozy, like a place made for curious children who wander too far.

You hesitate, unsure of what to do. But Totoro just stands there, his big eyes watching you intently. And after a long moment, he turns his head back toward the house, his huge form moving slowly as he starts to walk away, each step soft against the forest floor.

You don’t know what pulls you forward, but without a word, you follow.