One Door, Two Worlds

I first noticed the door on a day when everything else in my life felt like it was breaking apart. It wasn’t supposed to be there. I’d lived in that apartment for two years, knew every crack in the ceiling, every stubborn drawer that refused to close. Yet suddenly, in the hallway between my bedroom and the bathroom, stood a door I had never seen before.

It was plain. No golden handles, no carvings, no signs that it was anything extraordinary—except for the fact that yesterday it didn’t exist.

At first, I laughed it off. Stress, I told myself. My job was draining me, my father had stopped calling, and my friendships were stretched thin across distance and silence. Maybe my brain had finally found a creative way to give up.

Still, curiosity has a way of scratching louder than fear. The next morning, I twisted the knob and stepped through.

And just like that, the world tilted.

On the other side was a version of my apartment that looked… softer. The paint wasn’t peeling. The air smelled faintly of coffee and rain, not the stale detergent I was used to. On the table sat a notebook—the same brand I owned—but instead of empty pages, it was filled, cover to cover, with words. My handwriting, only steadier. More confident.

Then I heard laughter. My laughter.

I froze as I watched myself walk into the room, phone pressed to my ear, smiling as though life had never been heavy. This other “me” moved with an ease I couldn’t remember ever feeling. She was living the life I had imagined but had never managed to grasp.

I stumbled back through the door and slammed it shut, my heart pounding.

For days, I tried to pretend it wasn’t real. I buried myself in work, scrolling endlessly through my phone, doing everything to avoid the temptation of that hallway. But the thought gnawed at me. A door that could show me another life? A life where I wasn’t stuck, where I wasn’t half-invisible even to myself?

The next time I entered, I stayed longer. I watched this other me cooking dinner for friends—friends who, in my world, had stopped calling months ago. I saw framed photos on the wall of places I’d always dreamed of visiting but had never dared to book tickets for.

It hurt, watching her. Like pressing on a bruise you can’t stop touching.

Weeks passed, and the door became both a blessing and a curse. On bad days, I’d slip inside just to sit quietly in her world, pretending it was mine. On good days, I’d try to copy her—buying a ticket to a concert, reaching out to an old friend, even daring to write in my neglected notebook. But it was never quite the same.

One night, I caught her looking back.

I don’t know how to explain it, but she paused mid-laugh, mid-life, and her eyes met mine. For a breathless second, I knew she could see me. She tilted her head, curious but unafraid, as if to say, Why are you standing out there? Why don’t you come in?

That was the moment I realized the truth: the door didn’t just connect two worlds. It connected two choices—two versions of me. One who stepped forward, and one who stood still.

The next morning, I found myself sitting in front of the door, notebook in my lap. I wrote down everything I’d seen her do—the trips she took, the conversations she had, the risks she wasn’t afraid to embrace. And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel stuck. I felt like maybe the door wasn’t there to mock me. Maybe it was there to remind me.

That night, I dreamt of her again. Only this time, she didn’t look happier than me. She looked proud. As if by watching her, I had finally learned the secret: you don’t need a magical doorway to live a different life. You just need to open the one already in front of you.

The door is still in my hallway. Some mornings it’s closed, some mornings it’s gone, and some mornings it stands wide open, daring me to step through. But I’ve stopped lingering at the threshold.

Because now, when I see her—the other me—I don’t feel envy anymore. I feel gratitude. She is proof that the life I want isn’t impossible. It’s just waiting for me to be brave enough to cross over.

After all, every choice is a door. And every door, if you have the courage to open it, leads to another world.