For reasons I still can’t explain, the door felt different that night.

Not in any obvious way. Just a faint glow at the edges that didn’t quite belong. It carried with it a charge of danger, and, more unsettling still, a kind of thrill I hadn’t felt in years.

I knew better than to touch it, but I did anyway.

I was underground, waiting for the last train home. I had passed that door countless times, always assuming it was some maintenance closet, nothing worth a second glance. Yet on that night, it called to me.

“Be careful.” The voice startled me. An old man stood nearby, cane trembling in his grip.

“What? Careful? Why?”

He shook his head, his breath shallow. “I know that door. I opened it once and lost years I’ll never get back. I regret it every day.”

The station was otherwise empty. His eyes glimmered strangely. “I’m not going to open it,” I lied. “I’m just curious. Doesn’t it feel strange to you?”

“To me, it feels dangerous.”

“Exactly!” The word escaped too loudly, bouncing off the tiled walls.

He turned, limping toward the shadows. “Just remember. I warned you.”

As he walked away, I turned back to the door. My hand hovered over the handle and heat radiated from the metal. A pulse like an electric current thrummed beneath my skin.

I looked around: no one. Just me and the door. I hesitated for only a moment before twisting the handle.

What came next is impossible to explain: a deafening roar, a sudden blindness, the sensation of being wrenched sideways.

That was twenty Earth years ago, if time even works the same here. This place is not like home, though it’s hard to describe. The old man called it dangerous, but he was wrong. Or maybe he simply didn’t understand. Because here, I have learned more than I ever did on Earth.

If I ever return, no one will believe what I’ve seen. Truthfully, I don’t want to go back. I’d rather remain here, where the door has led me.

The End