The opening

She’d walked past the blue door a thousand times — on the way to the bus, on the way home, on the nights she couldn’t sleep and just walked.

It was always closed. A door in a wall between two shops, painted a blue that didn’t match anything, with no handle she’d ever noticed.

Tonight it was open. Just a crack. Warm light leaking out onto the wet pavement like something spilled.

She stood there long enough for the light to learn her face.

Then she did the thing you already know she did. So did you. That’s why you’re still reading.