Sid sat on the bed, staring at the wall until his eyes stung. The patch of plaster was empty, pale as ever. But in his mind, it still pulsed with light. He could still see Moony stepping through as if nothing unusual had happened.
His chest squeezed every time he replayed it. I saw it. I really saw it.
"Sid!" Arjun's voice floated from downstairs. "Dinner!"
Sid jolted. For a heartbeat the words surged up his throat—Grandpa, the wall…—but he swallowed them down. If he said it out loud now, and Arjun laughed, or worse, thought it was his imagination, the secret would slip away.
Not yet. I need proof.
He slid off the bed, forcing himself down to the hall.
The dining table was already set, chapati steaming, dal warm and fragrant. Arjun tore his chapati with one hand and launched into a story about the neighbor's goat climbing onto the verandah roof. Sid chewed slowly, eyes drifting again and again to the plain walls. He wanted to tell. The words burned on his tongue. But he forced them back down.
He would test it first. Alone.
He ate in silence, nodded when Arjun laughed at his own punchline, and slipped away the moment Lakshmi akka began clearing plates.
Sid shut his door tight and pressed his back against it. His heart drummed against his ribs.
"If a door appeared once," he whispered, "it can appear again."
The words steadied him, gave him courage.
He pulled the blanket straight, set himself down on the exact spot he had been sitting before, and fixed his eyes on the wall.
The TV remote felt heavy in his hand. He flicked it on. Cartoons leapt across the screen in shrill colors. He flicked it off. Silence.
He squinted at the wall. Still plain.
No, not working. Why didn't it work? What's missing?
Click. On again. Soap opera voices. Click. Off again. Black screen.
Maybe it was the light… maybe the sound… maybe the way I was sitting.
He shifted an inch to the left, then back again. Turned the brightness up, then down. Surfed from cartoons to movies to static to late-night news.
He crossed his legs on the bed. Stretched them out again. Tilted his head.
"C'mon," he muttered, low and urgent. "Just once. Show me."
Click. Click. Click.
Nothing.
Sid hurled the remote onto the bed, then snatched it back again. His chest felt tight, eyes stinging. What if the door had rules? What if I'd already broken them?
He groaned into the blanket. "Brilliant. Now I'm just yelling at plaster."
A soft thump pulled his head up.
Moony had appeared in the corner, golden eyes locked on him.
Sid sat straighter. "Aha! Caught you, suspect number one."
He snatched up an imaginary notebook, flipped it open with a snap, and wagged his finger like a detective in cartoons. "Don't play innocent. I saw you. You walked through that wall like it was a doorway."
Moony blinked once. Slow.
Sid leaned forward, voice dropping into a dramatic growl. "Where does it go? What's behind there? Talk!"
Moony licked her paw delicately and began to wash her face.
"Oh, that's clever," Sid muttered, scribbling nonsense into the air. "Classic diversion tactic." He shot up and pointed an invisible spotlight at her. "Confess, Moony! You're the only witness—and the only suspect!"
Moony flicked her tail, turned her back, and stretched in regal indifference.
Sid jabbed his finger toward her, frustration bubbling. "You know. You know what's behind there. And you won't tell me."
Just then Bheema padded in, tongue lolling. Sid spun on him. "And you—what were you doing while she was sneaking through walls? Don't think wagging fixes everything!"
Bheema barked once, thrilled by the attention.
Sid dropped the invisible notebook with a groan. "Every witness is useless!"
The cat curled up neatly, tail flicking once like punctuation. The dog panted, happy to be accused of a crime he didn't understand.
Sid flopped onto his bed, arms spread wide. The ceiling stared back.
Maybe it only happens when I don't look for it. Maybe I scared it away by staring too hard.
He turned to the wall, eyes half-closing, waiting for a shimmer, a hum, anything.
Nothing.
He pulled the blanket over his head. Heat prickled his skin. His thoughts buzzed louder than the crickets outside.
And then the dreams came.
He dreamed of doors glowing across the house, every wall alive with light. He ran to them, heart hammering, palms slapping against their warm surfaces. But each time he reached for the knob, the glow blinked out, leaving only cold plaster under his hands.
Moony was always there.
Sometimes on a windowsill, sometimes crouched in the hall, sometimes perched right above a doorframe. Her golden eyes gleamed in the shifting light, unblinking.
When a door did open, it was never for him.
Moony slipped through without hesitation, her body vanishing into the glow like it had been waiting for her. Sid shouted, pounded on the wall, begged her to stop. But the crack sealed each time, the light folding away before he could follow.
Her eyes were the last thing he saw—glittering with a secret she would never share.
He woke tangled in sweat and blanket, chest aching with frustration, the image of her disappearing into the glow burning fresh behind his eyes.
Sid woke early, hair stuck to his forehead, blanket twisted around his legs. The memory of the glow hit him before he was even fully awake.
If there's a door appearing in my room, he thought, there can be doors in other rooms too.
The decision landed solidly.
He slipped out barefoot, Bheema padding after him, tail wagging half-heartedly in the morning haze.
The corridor first: his palms skimmed across paint chipped with age, smooth in places, rough in others. No glow.The storerooms: dust, cobwebs, faint smell of turpentine.The balconies: sunlight, bird cries, cool breeze. Ordinary.The hall: incense lingering in cracks, paint peeling near the clock, faint scents of old festivals.
He pressed, knocked, listened. His heart raced at every flicker of shadow. But no shimmer. No pulse.
Bheema barked suddenly at a corner, tail thumping like a drum. Sid spun, breath caught—then sighed when the wall stayed bare.
"Useless," he muttered, ruffling the dog's ears anyway.
By late morning, dust clung to his palms, and his chest sagged with frustration.
"Did I imagine it?" The whisper escaped before he could stop it.
Moony slinked past in silence, tail brushing his leg. Her golden eyes lingered on him a second too long before she looked away.
Sid leaned against the verandah rail, chewing his lip. He had touched the wall. He had seen the light.
It was real.
And if it was real, then someone had to know.
Arjun.
The thought settled like a stone in his stomach. His grandfather had lived here all his life. If anyone could explain, it would be him.
But what if he laughs? What if he says it's all in my head? The dread twisted his stomach.
Still… not asking was worse.
Sid clenched his fists. This time I'll ask. I have to.
He stood, listening for the hum of his grandfather's voice somewhere deeper in the house — half-singing, half-muttering to himself.
Sid drew in a breath, steeling himself.
"This time," he whispered, "I'm going to ask."