Aarav stood frozen in place. The world around him moved with such quiet confidence that he almost felt like a ghost drifting through a real place. The buildings rose above him like giant reeds—curved and smooth, part nature, part architecture. Glass and vine, metal and bark, all fused together in a way that shouldn't have made sense, but it did. Somehow.
He took one shaky breath. Then another. His heart slowed down, but his brain was still screaming. Where am I? What did I do? How do I get back? The moment should have been awe-inspiring, but he wasn't ready for awe. He was ready for panic.
He stepped away from the shimmer spot. The glow on the ground had vanished, like it was never there. He looked around. Nobody had seen it. Or if they had, they didn't care. That was somehow worse.
He wandered. Slowly. Trying not to look lost. It was a ridiculous attempt—he stuck out. He wasn't wearing layered wraps or flowing anything. He had on a hoodie that said "EAT. SLEEP. REPEAT." and jeans with a rip that wasn't fashion.
Nobody stopped him. Nobody helped him. But nobody challenged him either. The people here moved like dancers in a slow parade. Calm. Fluid. Busy in a way that didn't involve phones or rushing.
He passed a stall that had no vendor—just a floating interface. Glowing symbols danced above trays of what looked like fruit made of glass. Another had long strips of something like leather, shifting colors every few seconds. And no money changed hands. People touched the interface, and the stall lit up for them.
Aarav kept walking.
Ten minutes in, he realized he was sweating. Not from heat, but nerves. This world—this city, whatever it was—it didn't just feel foreign. It felt like he wasn't supposed to be here. Not in a hostile way. More like walking backstage at a play you weren't cast in.
He turned a corner and finally saw something familiar. A door. Not sliding, not glowing. Just a plain, dull door set into a stone wall between two stalls.
Out of options, he walked toward it. The door creaked open when he pushed.
Inside: dust. Shelves. Boxes. Paper scraps. It smelled like old ink and dry wood. A storage space. Empty, unused, and—most importantly—quiet.
Then he saw it.
In the back, leaning against the wall, was a cracked mirror. Tall. Narrow. The crack ran across the middle like a scar.
Aarav walked up to it. His reflection stared back—hoodie, tired eyes, scuffed shoes. No shimmer. No portal effect.
He touched it.
Nothing.
He pressed both palms. Waited. Still nothing.
He exhaled. But this—this was it. This was where he came through. He knew it.
He backed away and sat on an old crate. Finally, his mind slowed enough to think.
This wasn't a one-way trip. Couldn't be. He was here. The shimmer existed. That meant the reverse had to, too.
He sat for a long time. Just listening to the city breathe through the walls.
Eventually, he stood and stepped back toward the mirror. He didn't touch it right away. He stood still. Breathed. Waited.
And then it shimmered.
Just a blink. Like it had to recognize him first.
He reached out.
And the ground beneath the mirror glowed.
He stepped forward.
The shimmer took him.
And he was gone.
Back in his room, Aarav landed on the mattress like it had been waiting for him. His head spun. The fan clacked. Light from the cracked bulb flickered above.
But he was back.
And now, he had questions.
Real ones.
He sat up, grabbed his notebook, and stared at the blank page.
He didn't write anything.
Not yet.
Instead, he reached for his phone. No notifications, same as always. He checked the news, as if half-expecting a headline: "Man Vanishes into Portal, Returns from Another World."
Nothing.
Of course.
He went to the kitchen. Still empty. That one slice of cheese still fused to the fridge wall. He poured a glass of water, sat on the floor, and stared out the window.
The world looked small now.
Not in a bad way.
In a "there's more" way.
His mind was racing, not with panic this time—but possibilities.
That place—wherever it was—was clean, alive, evolved. Different. And he had touched it. Walked it. Returned from it.
And he could go back.
But why?
What could he do there?
Would he survive? Thrive? Was there a way to belong there without standing out?
He stood by the window, lost in thought, when something clicked in his memory.
A voice—distant, automated, echoing through the city when he'd been walking through that strange marketplace. He hadn't paid attention then, too busy panicking, but now it came back, clear as day:
"Final wave of citizenship registration for foreign applicants begins today. This will be the last."
Aarav's eyes widened.
Citizenship? Registration? He didn't know the language then, but somehow it had slotted into his brain after the fact—like his mind had held onto it until he was ready.
Final wave.
It wasn't a warning. It was a window.
He grabbed his notebook and wrote just one thing:
Get In. Officially. Before They Shut the Door.