“The Door That Never Existed”

The Door That Never Existed

By [Ali Rhman]

It was an ordinary morning when I first noticed the door.

The kind of morning when sunlight spilled softly through the curtains, and the familiar creak of the old wooden floor was a comforting soundtrack to the start of my day. But as I walked down the narrow hallway toward the kitchen, there it was — a door where none had ever been before.

The hallway was long and plain, lined with faded wallpaper peeling in places, familiar in every detail. I knew it well — I had lived here for seven years. The walls held no surprises. Except now, they did.

A solid oak door stood framed in the middle of the left wall. Polished brass doorknob, intricate carvings I didn’t recognize, and a faint scent of lavender drifting from its edges.

I stopped dead. My heart beat faster, confused. The door was not there the day before — I was sure of it. I even took a picture on my phone to prove it. When I showed it to my partner, Sam, he laughed.

“You’ve been inside too long. That’s impossible.”

I wanted to believe him.

But the door was real. And it was locked.

I tried to open it. The knob turned smoothly, but the door held firm. No sound came from the other side, no hint of what waited beyond.

Curiosity gnawed at me. Days passed, and I found myself drawn back to the door again and again. I pressed my ear to it, whispered questions into the keyhole, and touched the carvings — cool and strangely alive under my fingertips.

One afternoon, I found a tiny key lying on the floor beneath the door. I had no idea where it came from. It wasn’t mine. I slid it into the lock. It turned without resistance.

With a slow breath, I pulled the door open.

What I saw took my breath away.

It was not the dusty attic or storage room I’d expected. Instead, I stepped into a place that shimmered like a dream.

A lush garden stretched endlessly before me — bright flowers blooming under a sapphire sky, trees bending gently in a warm breeze. The air smelled of fresh earth and rain. Birds sang songs I had never heard but somehow knew.

I stepped through the door and onto the soft grass. Time felt different here. Softer. Slower.

Days passed — or was it hours? — and I explored the garden’s every corner. I found a crystal-clear pond, a wooden bench carved with ancient symbols, and a winding path lined with glowing lanterns.

Yet, whenever I turned to leave, the door was gone.

I was trapped.

Or so I thought.

When I finally returned to my own hallway, the door had vanished, leaving only the blank wall where it had been.

I tried to tell Sam, but he looked at me with concern. “Maybe it’s stress. Maybe you’re dreaming.”

But I knew the truth.

The door was a portal to a place that shouldn’t exist.

I went back many times. Each visit left me feeling lighter, as if the garden was healing something deep inside me.

One evening, I brought a notebook and began to write about the door, the garden, the feeling of walking between two worlds.

The words came easily, as if the garden whispered stories into my mind.

Then, one night, I found a letter waiting on my doorstep — written in the same intricate script as the door’s carvings.

It read:

“Dear traveler,

This door opens only to those who need it most. The garden is a refuge — a place of healing and discovery. You may stay as long as you wish, but remember: the door is your choice. You can return whenever you are ready to face the world beyond.

With hope,

The Keeper.”

I never found out who the Keeper was.

But I understood.

The door that never existed was never meant to trap me — it was meant to free me.

And when I finally closed it behind me, I felt whole again.