The night was still. A pale moonlight spilled through the window, laying faint silver streaks across the wooden floor of Sita's room. She had fallen asleep with her diary lying half-open on the desk, its ink not yet fully dried. The stillness outside was deceptive; in her mind, chaos brewed.
At first, her dream seemed ordinary—an endless hallway stretching forward with no walls, no ceiling, only a cold wind that pulled at her hair. But then, without warning, a great crack tore open in the air before her. It wasn't a door, nor was it a window; it was something far more terrible. A portal, dark and jagged, split the dream in half.
From it spilled voices.
At first faint, like the whisper of a crowd in the distance. But then louder. Clearer. Terrifying.
"Please, open the door!"
"Help us!"
"Let me out… let me out!"
"Mama… Mama, don't leave me!"
The voices overlapped, countless men, women, and children crying together. Their sobs merged into a chorus of despair, echoing like broken bells in the void. Sita clutched her ears, but the cries pierced through her hands.
She stumbled backward, but the portal seemed to follow. Shadows of hands—thin, frail, trembling—pressed against the inside of that dark tear in space, as though thousands were trapped behind it, begging her to release them.
Her knees buckled. "Stop—stop it! Please… please stop!" she shouted, her own voice swallowed by the tide of desperation.
The last thing she saw before her eyes flew open was a child's face—pale, hollow-eyed, pressed against the crack. He mouthed something silently, and though she couldn't hear it, she felt it burn through her: "Don't let it close again."
---
Sita woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat, her chest heaving as if she had run miles. Her blanket clung to her skin, damp and heavy. The faint sound of night crickets came through the window, normal and unthreatening—yet her body trembled as though the cries from her nightmare had followed her into waking.
Beside her, Lili stirred. She had fallen asleep curled up, her hair spilling over the pillow. The rustling woke her, and she blinked at Sita with heavy eyes. "Sita…? What's wrong?" she asked softly, her voice thick with sleep.
Sita pressed a hand to her forehead, still breathing unevenly. She couldn't speak at first—the images were too fresh. Her throat worked soundlessly before she managed, "It was… a dream. But it felt real. There were… voices, so many voices, crying. Children, adults, everyone… begging me. I—I couldn't…"
Her words broke.
Lili sat up quickly now, alarm sharpening her sleepy features. She took Sita's hand in hers, squeezing gently. "Hey, hey… it's just a nightmare. You were saying something in your sleep too, like 'please don't make me… please stop.' You scared me, Sita."
Sita turned toward her, eyes wide and still wet. "Lili, it wasn't just a nightmare. I could feel them. They weren't just voices—they were real people. Trapped. Suffering. It was so vivid… too vivid."
Lili stroked her arm reassuringly, though her own heart had begun to pound. "Nightmares can feel real. Your mind… it plays tricks. Maybe it's just all the stress you've been carrying lately. You've been through so much."
But Sita shook her head fiercely. Her instincts screamed otherwise. "No. There was something odd about it. Something dangerous. I know it." She clutched the diary on her desk, as though it might contain an answer.
Lili pulled her into an embrace, resting her chin on Sita's head. "Then we'll figure it out. Together. But for now, breathe. You're safe. I'm right here."
Sita's trembling eased a little in the warmth of her friend's arms, but in the back of her mind, the sound of weeping still lingered, faint and insistent. She knew—this was only the beginning.
Morning came slowly for Tae-hyun. He had barely regained his strength after the hospital incident, and though his body felt restless, his parents had insisted he stay home. His house—large, old, and quietly imposing—was filled with the faint scent of polished wood and the gentle hum of maids going about their work.
He sat at the breakfast table, picking idly at the food, when his father entered. Mr. Kim, tall and stern, carried the kind of presence that filled a room before he spoke. He was more than just a mayor; his reputation extended into several business ventures, though politics consumed most of his days.
"Hyun," his father's voice was steady, though beneath it lay worry. "You need to take a break from those races. No more reckless stunts. You almost lost your life. Do you understand that?"
Tae-hyun looked up, startled. "Father, I—"
"No more excuses," Mr. Kim cut him off, his tone firm. "I already warned you. But you didn't listen. And look where it got us. If that girl hadn't saved you…" His jaw tightened.
Mrs. Hannah, Tae-hyun's mother, placed a trembling hand on his shoulder. Her usually composed face was softened by tears. "We almost lost you, Hyun. Do you know what that felt like for us? You're our only son. Please… please don't put yourself in danger again."
Her words pierced deeper than his father's anger. Tae-hyun clenched his fists. He hated to see her cry.
Mr. Kim's voice lowered, quieter now. "All these years, we gave you space. We didn't want to force you, especially after… after your past. But this time, we can't stand by. We have a responsibility to protect you."
Mrs. Hannah nodded, stroking her son's hand. "You'll always be our most precious child. Nothing matters more than your safety."
The weight of their worry pressed on Tae-hyun like chains. He wanted to protest, to argue that he wasn't a fragile child. But the memory of collapsing in the hospital bed, of his mother's tearful face, silenced him. At last, he exhaled slowly. "Fine. I'll stop. At least until I've fully recovered."
Both parents exchanged a glance—relief mixed with lingering concern. For the first time in a long while, they felt united in their fear for him.
His father cleared his throat. "Then, while you rest, choose something else to do. Anything, but not racing. You have options—you could help with city affairs, or shadow me at the office. The choice is yours."
Tae-hyun looked at him, then down at his hands. His heart tugged toward something he hadn't spoken of in years. Quietly, he said, "Then… I'd like to work with Mother. At her organization."
Mrs. Hannah blinked in surprise. "My organization? Hyun, it's been so long since you even mentioned it."
"Yes." He lifted his gaze, steady and certain. "I want to do it."
His father's brows furrowed. "Why, suddenly? What changed?"
Tae-hyun thought for a long moment. In truth, he didn't fully know himself. "Because… it feels right. It's something I've always wanted but never admitted. Maybe it's time I did."
Mrs. Hannah's eyes softened with pride and a hint of worry. She cupped his cheek gently. "If that's truly what you want, then I'll guide you. But promise me, Hyun—promise me you'll take it seriously."
"I will," he said firmly.
His father said nothing for a long time. Then finally, he sighed and nodded. "Very well. We'll support you. But remember—your health comes first."
Two lives, two choices, both pulling toward something unseen.
And the door in the shadows… was waiting.
TO BE CONTINUED...