I open the door.

I close the door.

There is a silence, broken only by the sound of my own breathing. I breathe in, breathe out. The world continues to move. There is nothing here except for me and the silence.

My phone rings. It startles me so badly that I drop it. I stare down at it on the floor, not daring to move. It's not mine. Not mine, not mine. I pick up the phone gingerly and look down. There are no notifications. It's still there.

I dial the number anyway. After a moment, someone picks up.

"Hello? Who is this?"

I don't recognize the voice. It sounds like it belongs to a person who has had enough of being called for something that is clearly an emergency. This doesn't make sense. It should be my name that they're asking for. If that's my name.

"Hi," I say shakily. "Who are you?"

The voice stops talking. I wait anxiously for some sort of response. Then, after a long pause, he speaks again.

"How do you know my name?"

It feels as if the wind has been knocked out of me. I stand there clutching the phone as though it is the only thing anchoring me in this terrible space. My breath comes in shallow bursts.

"What happened?"

His tone is sharp and accusatory. I wonder how I could have done something like this without him noticing. I've never been one for deception. And now everything I've worked for is unraveling before me.

He hangs up.

I don't dare call back.

I walk to the near park. I can see the trees from where I am standing. They cast shadows across the asphalt; their dark shapes seem to grow larger when I gaze into them.

I sit down on the bench. I can just barely hear the cars driving past as I rest. I close my eyes against the sun and lean my head forward until I feel myself begin to drift off to sleep.

A shadow falls over me.

I open my eyes. I blink several times. My vision seems blurred around the edge Everything looks different somehow. My hands are shaking. The sky looks wrong. The air tastes and smells different.

And then I realize what all these things mean and why they were important. I'm back. I'm back in my body.

I look up and see an unfamiliar man staring at me. He is dressed in khakis and a polo shirt. His face is pale but his jaw is set in determination.

This must be the man with whom I spoke on the phone. The man I was supposed to meet. This cannot possibly be happening.

I stand up slowly. I step closer. I put my hand up to cover my mouth as I take in the sight of his skin. White, almost luminescent. I run my tongue over my lips. My mouth feels parched and dry. I try to speak again but I can't get a word out. He takes my arm gently and leads me away from the bench.

He leads me down a nearby road. I follow numbly behind him. We come to a halt outside of a small shop. It reminds me of a coffee house with its colorful window boxes and bright yellow curtains. Its sign is painted bright pink.

I think I should explain the situation.

"Listen, sir," I manage to stammer, "I didn't mean to... I..."

He raises a hand to stop me.

"Just come inside. Please."

We enter the shop together, side by side. The smell of coffee and baked goods fill the air, filling me with a wave of nostalgia. The walls are covered in soft pastel colors, accented with black and white frames depicting scenes from popular TV shows or movies. It's a nice change of pace from the sterile office I saw earlier.

A young woman wearing a flowery blouse and a floral skirt approaches us. She smiles brightly.

"Hi! Can I help you two?"

I nod mutely. The man next to me does so too. She gestures towards the chairs lining the walls of the seating area.

"Take your time. There's no rush." She turns around, leaving us alone again.

I look over at him. He's studying my face intently. I turn away, focusing instead on taking deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart.

The man walks over to the counter and pulls out a small notepad. He jots something down and hands it over to me. I take it cautiously, looking down. It's blank. I raise my eyes, searching for his face once more. He's smiling warmly at me, watching me carefully. I glance down once more. His handwriting is even neater than mine.

'Thank you.'

He writes.

'For coming.'

His pen strokes over the paper. I read the word again and again and again until I realize exactly what I'm reading.

"'I hope you find it okay. You deserve better than what's going on right now.'" I read aloud.

He nods in agreement and holds out his hand. As he does, I notice something else that I hadn't noticed when I'd been in the room. In the center of his palm, there's something round and flat. When I hold my own hand out to take it, I notice it matches. It feels smooth and slightly cool in my grip, unlike the heat from the other objects around me.

A moment later he's taken back his hand, giving me the notepad back.

My brain short circuits at the sight of it. I flip through pages upon pages filled with neat writing. I can't keep track of it all. There must be tens of thousands of pages in this notebook alone. My eyes widen as I read them.

'Thank you,' I read. 'You said my name.'

The corners of his mouth twitch upwards. 'Yes. I did.'

I look at him, really look at him. There's something familiar about him. Something about his dark blue eyes and dark hair that falls just over the shoulders. Even though he's standing in front of me and I'm sitting on a sofa in our living room surrounded by bookshelves, I don't know him.

He leaves the shop. I stay. I watch him through the window as he makes his way back up the street toward his car. It's a black convertible car that he drives rather fast. He gets behind the wheel, throws it into reverse, and heads back down the street. The streetlight catches his profile as he drives down the street. The moon lights his expression, making the planes of his face stand out. He's beautiful, I think.

The words echo in my mind.

Then he glances back to check the mirror one last time and disappears from view

I stay like that until the sun rises. When the light begins peeking over the horizon, I pull out my phone and type in a few numbers, hoping for a reply.

The message appears seconds later, the sender unknown. It reads simply,

'Welcome home.'

I open my eyes.

I'm lying on my bed. I glance down. Yes, definitely my bedroom. I frown slightly. That's strange. Why would I be in my bedroom?

The memories of the previous night come rushing back to me. A dream? Maybe. But it felt too real. Almost like I'd lived it before in a way I wasn't completely aware of yet. Which means it was part of reality, which means this place—this time period—is very much real indeed.

There's only one conclusion: I must have gone to another dimension. But which dimension? What did happen to me?

I glance around my room. No sign of any disturbances. Everything is exactly where it was last night. The bookcases are still lined up neatly along the wall. My desk is still organized by the stack of unfinished paperwork. Everything is in its usual spot.

I swing my legs out of the bed. Standing up is difficult. Everything still feels strange and uncoordinated. I reach out tentatively to steady myself against the desk. One of my hands brushes against something sharp. I catch my balance as I look down and notice a piece of metal protruding from the wood.

A key.

Suddenly I remember where I am. My memory flickers to life as I recall what had happened before I fell asleep last night. The stranger...

I quickly move to the doorway and peer out into the hall. I take slow steps down the corridor. I pass my door. A faint sound reaches my ears and I turn around. I press my ear to the door and listen. Nothing. I wait a minute longer, then try the handle. Locked. Again, just like the first time.

I push the handle down.

Nothing.

The handle turns with hardly any resistance. I sigh with relief.

Now that I know where I'm going, I walk down the hallway to the end of the corridor and stop in front of the door. It doesn't look particularly special in any sense of the word. There's a small plaque hanging above the door with the words, 'Mr. Yahweh Hewhay – Department Manager' written underneath it in big block letters.

There are three locks hanging in front of the door. I reach out and pick one of them off the wall, fiddling around with it for a while before finally getting it to unlock.

The door swings open easily.

The room beyond is smaller than what I expected. It's simple and plain. There are no signs or pictures covering the walls. Only a few pieces of furniture, most of them simple wooden tables and chairs, are scattered around the large room. There is a large bookcase on the far wall opposite the doorway. Books are stacked neatly on the shelves. Some of the titles are unfamiliar to me; the majority appear to be fantasy novels. They're pretty common fare, although there are some that I recognize. The rest look entirely new and unfamiliar. There's also a small television sitting beside an ancient radio.

On the other side of the room, there's another door, identical to the one I came through. If the others were normal doors, then this one would be the only one that is slightly different, which explains why I hadn't found anything unusual when I'd explored the whole apartment. However, there are still plenty of other rooms that I haven't seen yet.

I step into the room and close the door behind me softly, listening for signs of life. Silence is all I get.

I turn around.

The man who accompanied me to the store is sitting behind the chair.

"Good morning," I say quietly.

He looks up at me.

I look at him.

He seems to be waiting for me to say something.

After a moment, he speaks.

"Do you remember what happened?"

I answer.

"Yes."

He nods slowly. "So do I."

The End...