The House Between Worlds

Maya pressed her face against the car window and watched the houses go by.

They were all old, with tall windows and dark brick walls.

Her mother was driving slowly down the narrow street, looking at the numbers on the doors.

"There it is," her mother said. "Number seventeen."

Maya looked at the house.

It was smaller than their old one.

The paint on the front door was blue, but it was old and some of it had come off.

There was a small garden with long grass and yellow flowers growing between the stones.

"It's nice," Maya said, but she did not really think so.

She missed their old house in the city.

She missed her friends.

She missed her old school.

Everything about this town felt strange and far away.

Her mother stopped the car and turned off the engine.

"I know this is hard," she said.

"But we needed a new start. You'll see. This place will feel like home soon."

Maya did not answer.

She opened the car door and stepped out.

The air smelled different here.

It smelled like rain and old wood and something sweet, like flowers she did not know the name of.

They carried boxes inside.

The house was cold and empty.

Their footsteps echoed on the wooden floors.

Maya's room was upstairs, at the back of the house.

It had one window that looked out over the garden and the houses behind.

She put her box down on the floor and looked outside.

The garden was long and thin, with a wooden fence at the end.

Beyond the fence, she could see the back of another house.

But between her house and the house next door, there was something strange.

There was a gap.

It was narrow, maybe just wide enough for a person to walk through.

The walls of both houses were very close together, and the gap was dark, like a shadow that never moved.

Maya could not see where it ended.

It seemed to go on and on, deeper and deeper into the darkness.

"Maya! Come help with the kitchen boxes!" her mother called from downstairs.

Maya turned away from the window, but she kept thinking about the gap.

There was something about it that made her feel strange.

Not scared exactly.

More like curious.

Like it was calling to her.

That night, Maya could not sleep.

She lay in her new bed and listened to the sounds of the house.

Everything was different.

The walls made different sounds.

The wind came through the windows in a different way.

She could hear something else too.

A low sound, like breathing, coming from outside.

She got up and went to the window.

The garden was dark, but the moon was bright enough to see the fence, the flowers, and the gap between the houses.

The gap looked darker than before.

It looked like a door that someone had left open, leading into nothing.

Maya told herself it was just a space between two old buildings.

Every street had gaps like this.

But she had never seen one that looked so deep, so dark, so much like it was waiting for someone to step inside.

She went back to bed and pulled the blanket over her head.

Tomorrow she would look at it in the daylight.

In the daylight, it would just be a gap.

Nothing more.

The next morning, Maya went outside to look at the gap.

In the daylight, it did not look as frightening.

She could see the brick walls of both houses, old and rough, with moss growing in the cracks.

The ground was wet stone, and there were a few leaves that the wind had blown in.

But the gap was deeper than she had expected.

She took a step inside.

The walls were so close that she could touch both sides with her hands.

The air was cooler in here, and it smelled like damp earth.

She took another step, and another.

After about ten steps, the gap should have ended.

She should have come out on the other side, onto the street in front of the houses.

But it did not end.

The walls kept going, and the light from behind her was getting weaker.

Maya stopped.

Her heart was beating fast.

This was not possible.

The gap between two houses could not be this long.

She looked back and could still see the bright square of her garden.

She looked forward and saw only shadow.

She reached out her hand in front of her.

Her fingers touched something.

It was not brick or stone.

It was smooth and warm, like glass that had been sitting in the sun.

But it was not hard like glass.

When she pushed, it moved, like a curtain made of something she had never felt before.

Maya pulled her hand back quickly.

She stood there for a long moment, breathing hard.

Then she turned and walked back to her garden.

She sat on the grass and looked at the gap.

She had found something.

She did not know what it was, but she had found something that should not be there.

For the rest of the day, Maya helped her mother unpack boxes.

They put books on shelves and plates in cupboards.

Her mother talked about the new job she would start next week and the school Maya would go to.

Maya listened, but her mind kept going back to the gap.

After dinner, her mother went to bed early.

She had said she was tired from the move.

Maya waited until she heard her mother's door close.

Then she took a torch from the kitchen drawer and went outside.

The night air was cool on her skin.

She walked to the gap and turned on the torch.

The beam of light cut through the darkness.

She walked in, counting her steps this time.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.

On step twelve, she felt it again.

The warm, smooth surface.

She pressed her hand against it and pushed.

This time, she pushed harder.

The surface bent inward, like she was pushing through something thick and soft.

She felt warmth spread up her arm.

Then she pushed through.

The feeling was like stepping through a waterfall, but instead of water, it was light.

For one second, everything was bright and warm.

Then she was standing on the other side, and the world looked almost the same as before.

Almost.

The gap was still there, the walls still close together.

But when she walked out, she was not in her garden.

She was in a garden that looked like hers, but different.

The grass was shorter.

The flowers were red, not yellow.

And the house behind her had a green door, not a blue one.

Maya stood very still and looked around.

The moon was in the same place in the sky.

The stars were the same.

But this was not her world.

She was somewhere else.

Maya walked slowly around the garden.

Everything was similar but not the same.

The fence was white, not brown.

There was a small pond in the corner that her garden did not have.

A cat sat on the fence, watching her with bright green eyes.

She did not have a cat.

She went to the back door of the house and looked through the window.

The kitchen was different.

The walls were painted yellow instead of white.

There were different cups on the shelf.

But the shape of the room was the same.

Maya tried the door.

It was locked.

She pressed her face against the glass and looked deeper into the house.

On the kitchen table, there was a newspaper.

She could read the date.

It was the same date as today.

But the name of the newspaper was different.

It said "The Morning Herald" instead of "The Daily Post."

She was in a world that was running at the same time as hers, but where things had happened differently.

Maya's hands were shaking.

She was excited and scared at the same time.

She wanted to see more, to explore this world, to understand how it was different.

But she also felt that she should go back.

She had been gone too long already.

She walked back to the gap between the houses.

She could see the warm, glowing surface from this side too.

It looked like a thin wall of golden light hanging in the darkness.

She pushed through it, felt the warmth again, and stepped out into her own garden.

The yellow flowers were there.

The brown fence.

No pond.

No cat.

She went inside and up to her room.

She sat on her bed and tried to understand what had happened.

She had walked through a door between worlds.

It sounded impossible, like something from a story.

But she had felt it.

She had seen it.

Maya looked at her room.

Everything was exactly as she had left it.

Her books on the shelf.

Her photo of her and her father on the desk.

The drawing she had made of their old house on the wall.

Wait.

Maya stood up and looked at the photo more carefully.

In the photo, she was standing with her father at the beach.

She remembered this day.

They had gone to the sea for her tenth birthday.

Her father was smiling.

She was holding a yellow kite.

But now, in the photo, the kite was red.

Maya picked up the photo and held it close to her eyes.

She was sure the kite had been yellow.

She remembered choosing it at the shop.

She had picked yellow because it was her favourite colour.

But in this photo, the kite was clearly red.

She put the photo down and sat on the bed again.

Had the photo always been like this?

Was she remembering wrong?

Or had something changed when she had crossed to the other world?

She did not sleep well that night.

She dreamed of doors and colours and things that were almost right but not quite.

The next day was Sunday.

Maya's mother made breakfast and talked about the things they still needed to buy for the house.

"We need curtains for your room," she said.

"And a new lamp for the hall.

Oh, and I need to call Mrs Patterson about the garden."

"Who is Mrs Patterson?" Maya asked.

Her mother looked at her strangely.

"She's our neighbour.

She lives at number nineteen.

I told you about her yesterday."

Maya did not remember that.

But she did not want to argue, so she just nodded.

After breakfast, Maya went to school.

The school was small.

There were only two classes for her year.

The teacher, Mr Williams, introduced her to the class.

"This is Maya.

She has just moved to our town.

I hope you will all make her feel welcome."

A girl with short dark hair smiled at her.

Her name was Lena.

At lunch, Lena sat with Maya and told her about the school, the teachers, and the town.

"Do you like your new house?" Lena asked.

"It's okay," Maya said.

"It's old."

"All the houses on that street are old," Lena said.

"My grandmother says some of them are more than a hundred years old.

She says there are stories about that street."

"What kind of stories?"

Lena leaned closer.

"She says that the houses there are special.

That the walls between them are thin."

"Thin?" Maya repeated.

"Not thin like you can hear through them.

Thin like..." Lena paused, trying to find the right words.

"Like the world is thin there.

Like other worlds are close."

Maya felt her heart jump, but she kept her face calm.

"That's just a story, right?"

Lena shrugged.

"My grandmother believes it.

She says she knew someone who lived on that street years ago.

A man called Mr Okada.

He told her that he had found a way to walk between worlds.

But then one day, he disappeared, and nobody ever saw him again."

Maya wanted to ask more, but the bell rang and lunch was over.

She spent the rest of the day thinking about what Lena had said.

The walls between worlds were thin on her street.

Someone else had found the door.

And that person had disappeared.

When she got home, Maya went straight to the gap.

She stood at the entrance and looked into the darkness.

She knew she should be careful.

She knew that something had changed in her world after her first crossing.

The kite in the photo.

Her mother talking about a neighbour Maya had never heard of.

But the curiosity was stronger than the fear.

She walked in, counted to twelve, and pushed through the warm barrier of light.

This time, the other world was different in new ways.

The garden had the same red flowers and white fence.

But now there was a swing hanging from the big tree, a swing that had not been there before.

And sitting on the swing was a girl.

The girl looked up when Maya came through.

She had the same dark hair as Maya.

The same brown eyes.

The same face.

Maya was looking at herself.

The other Maya stood up from the swing.

She did not look surprised.

She looked like she had been waiting.

"You found the door," the other Maya said.

Her voice was the same too.

"Who are you?" Maya asked, though she already knew the answer.

"I'm you. Or a different version of you. I live here, in this world."

The other Maya stepped closer.

"I found the door too, a few weeks ago."

"I've been to your world."

"I've seen your garden, your yellow flowers."

Maya felt dizzy.

"You've been to my world?"

The other Maya nodded.

"I wanted to see what was different."

"In my world, our parents are still together."

"Dad lives with us."

"But in your world, he left."

"I saw the photos in your room."

"You and your mum, just the two of you."

Maya felt a pain in her chest.

"Dad left when I was eleven," she said quietly.

"He moved to another city."

"In my world, he stayed," the other Maya said.

"But Mum lost her job, and we had to move here because we couldn't pay for the old house."

"Everything is different, but everything is also the same."

"Do you understand?"

Maya understood.

These were worlds where different choices had been made, different things had happened.

But they were built on the same foundation.

"There's something you need to know," the other Maya said.

She sat back down on the swing and moved slowly back and forth.

"Every time we cross, something changes."

"Small things."

"A colour, a name, a memory."

"The worlds start to mix together."

"I noticed," Maya said.

"A photo in my room changed."

"And my mum mentioned a neighbour I've never heard of."

"It gets worse," the other Maya said.

"The more you cross, the bigger the changes."

"I crossed three times before I understood what was happening."

"My best friend's name changed."

"My dog became a cat."

"My mother's eyes went from brown to blue."

She looked at Maya with a serious expression.

"Each crossing moves something from one world to the other."

"Things get swapped."

"Can we stop it?" Maya asked.

"I don't know."

"I stopped crossing after I understood."

"The changes stopped too."

"But they didn't go back to how they were before."

"My friend is still called something different."

"My mother's eyes are still blue."

She paused.

"I learned to live with the changes."

"But I'm afraid of what would happen if someone kept crossing."

"If someone crossed too many times."

"What do you think would happen?"

The other Maya looked up at the sky.

"I think the worlds would break."

"Like two rivers running into each other."

"Everything would mix until nothing was the same anymore."

"Both worlds would become something new."

"Something neither of us would recognise."

When it was time to go, Maya walked back to the gap.

"Will you come back?" the other Maya asked.

"I don't know," Maya said.

"Remember what I told you."

"Every crossing has a cost."

Maya pushed through the barrier and stepped back into her own garden.

This time, the changes were bigger.

When Maya went inside, the hallway looked different.

There was a mirror on the wall that had not been there before.

The carpet on the stairs was darker.

And on the shelf by the door, there was a pair of shoes she had never seen.

Men's shoes.

Her mother came out of the kitchen.

"Maya, dinner is almost ready."

"Your father called."

"He said he'll be home late tonight."

Maya froze.

"My father?"

Her mother looked confused.

"Yes, your father."

"He's working late at the hospital."

"Are you feeling all right?"

Maya's legs felt weak.

She sat down on the stairs.

Her father.

In this world, her father had not left.

He was here.

He lived in this house.

He was coming home.

"Maya?"

Her mother looked worried now.

"You look pale."

"Do you want some water?"

"I'm fine," Maya said.

"I just... I forgot."

"I was playing outside and I forgot the time."

She went up to her room.

It was different too.

There were more books on the shelf.

And on the desk, instead of one photo, there were three.

Maya and her father at the beach with a red kite.

Maya and her mother and father at a restaurant.

Maya and her father building something in the garden.

In this version of her world, her father had stayed.

Maya sat on the bed and cried.

She cried until she heard the front door open downstairs.

Heavy footsteps in the hall.

Her mother's voice, warm and bright.

And then a man's voice.

Deep and kind and familiar.

"Where's Maya?"

"Upstairs. She was acting a bit strange earlier."

Footsteps on the stairs.

A knock on her door.

"Maya? Can I come in?"

She wiped her eyes quickly.

"Yes."

The door opened and her father walked in.

He was taller than she remembered.

His hair was shorter.

He was wearing a white shirt with a name badge from the hospital.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Your mum said you seemed upset."

"Bad day?"

Maya looked at him.

This was her father.

Not a copy, not a stranger.

He had the same smile, the same way of tilting his head when he was worried.

"I just missed you," she said.

He sat on the bed and put his arm around her.

"I was only at work," he said, laughing gently.

"I'll always come home."

"You know that."

Maya leaned against him and closed her eyes.

She wanted this to be real.

She wanted this to be her world, the world where he had stayed, where he came home every night, where she had three photos instead of one.

But she knew the truth.

This was not her world.

This was a world she had created by crossing the barrier.

And somewhere, in the other world, the other Maya was living with the changes too.

She could keep this world.

She could stay here and let the old world fade away.

But was it right?

She had taken something that did not belong to her.

She had stolen pieces of another world to fix her own.

The next day at school, Maya looked for Lena.

She found her in the library at lunchtime, reading a book about space.

"Lena, you told me about Mr Okada. The man who lived on my street and disappeared."

Lena looked up. "Yes, what about him?"

"Do you know anything else about him? Where he went? What happened?"

Lena closed her book. "My grandmother might know more. She's the one who told me the story. Why? Did something happen?"

Maya hesitated.

She wanted to tell Lena everything.

About the gap, the barrier of light, the other world, the other Maya.

But she was afraid Lena would think she was crazy.

"I'm just curious about the history of the street," Maya said.

"I can ask my grandmother," Lena said. "She loves talking about old stories."

Two days later, Lena came to school with a small photograph.

It was old and yellow at the edges.

It showed an elderly man standing in a garden.

He had kind eyes and white hair.

"This is Mr Okada," Lena said.

"My grandmother said he lived at number fifteen, the house right next to yours."

"He moved there in nineteen seventy-two."

"He was a scientist."

"He studied something called parallel dimensions."

"What happened to him?" Maya asked.

"My grandmother said he became strange after a few years."

"He told people that he had found a door. A door between worlds."

"He said he could walk from one world to another."

"People thought he was ill. They said he was confused."

"But your grandmother believed him?"

Lena nodded slowly.

"She said that one day, she visited him."

"He showed her something."

"He took her to the gap between his house and number seventeen, your house."

"He told her to put her hand into the darkness."

"She did, and she felt something warm and smooth."

"She said it felt like sunlight made solid."

Maya's breath caught in her throat.

"He told her it was a doorway," Lena continued.

"He said that some places in the world had thin walls between dimensions."

"Places where different versions of reality were very close together."

"He had been crossing for years, studying the differences."

"And then he disappeared?"

"Yes."

"My grandmother said that the last time she saw him, he looked different."

"Older, but not just older. Changed."

"He told her that the crossings had mixed things up."

"He said that every time he crossed, pieces of his world got swapped with pieces of the other world."

"He couldn't remember which memories were his original ones anymore."

"He didn't know which life he had started with."

Maya felt cold. "He lost himself."

"My grandmother thinks so."

"She said he told her that he had to go through one last time."

"He had to try to fix what he had broken."

"He walked into the gap, and nobody saw him again."

"That was in nineteen eighty-five."

Maya was quiet for a long time.

Mr Okada had been doing the same thing she was doing.

He had crossed too many times, and the worlds had mixed together until he could not find his way back.

That evening, Maya sat in her room and thought about everything.

She looked at the three photos on her desk.

In this version of her life, she had a father who came home every night.

She had parents who laughed together in the kitchen.

She had something she had wanted for three years.

But she also knew that it was not really hers.

She had not earned this happiness.

She had taken it from another version of herself.

And with every crossing, the changes would grow.

Eventually, she would not recognise her own life anymore.

She would be like Mr Okada, lost between worlds, unable to remember which life was real.

She picked up the photo from the beach.

The red kite.

She remembered yellow.

She would always remember yellow, even if the photo showed red.

That was how it started.

Small things.

A colour.

A name.

And then bigger things.

A person.

A whole life.

Maya made her decision.

She had to go back one more time.

Not to explore, not to see what was different.

She had to find the other Maya and talk to her.

They had to figure out how to close the door, or at least how to stop the changes.

She waited until her parents were asleep.

It felt strange to think of them as her parents, plural.

She had been saying "my mum" for three years.

Now there was a dad sleeping in the room down the hall, a dad who had kissed her goodnight and told her he loved her.

Maya went downstairs quietly.

She opened the back door and stepped into the garden.

The night was clear and cold.

She could see the gap between the houses, dark and waiting.

She walked in.

One, two, three... twelve.

She pushed through the barrier.

But this time, something was different.

The golden light was not as bright.

It flickered, like a candle in the wind.

And when she came out on the other side, the world was not what she expected.

The garden was a mess.

The white fence was broken.

The red flowers were dead.

The swing hung from one rope, the other rope had snapped.

The house behind her was dark.

No lights in any window.

Maya walked to the back door and looked through the window.

The kitchen was empty.

Not just empty of people.

Empty of everything.

No cups on the shelves.

No newspaper on the table.

No furniture at all.

"Hello?" Maya called out.

Her voice echoed off the walls.

She walked around the house to the front.

The street was quiet.

Some of the houses had lights, but many were dark.

A cold wind blew down the street, carrying old leaves and dust.

Then she saw someone.

A figure sitting on the steps of the house across the street.

It was the other Maya.

She was sitting with her arms around her knees, looking at the ground.

Maya crossed the street and sat down next to her.

"What happened?" Maya asked.

The other Maya looked up.

Her eyes were red, like she had been crying.

"You happened," she said.

"Your crossings. Each time you came through, you took something from my world."

"First small things. Then big things."

"My father disappeared two days ago."

"One morning he was here, the next morning my mother said we had always lived alone."

Maya felt sick. "I didn't mean to take him. I didn't know."

"I know," the other Maya said.

"The door doesn't care what we mean to do. It just swaps things."

"You wanted a father, and the door gave you one."

"It took him from me."

They sat in silence.

The wind blew and the broken swing creaked in the dark garden.

"Can we fix it?" Maya asked.

The other Maya shook her head slowly.

"I don't think so."

"Mr Okada tried to fix it."

"He crossed so many times that both his worlds fell apart."

"My grandmother told me the story."

"In my world, everyone remembers him."

"Your grandmother? Lena's grandmother?"

"In my world, she's my neighbour. She lives at number twenty-one."

"There might be one way," the other Maya said quietly.

"The door isn't natural."

"Someone made it. Or something opened it a long time ago."

"If we could close it, the worlds might separate again."

"Things might go back."

"How do we close it?"

"We have to do it together. From both sides."

"We have to stand on opposite sides of the barrier and refuse to let anything through."

"Mr Okada couldn't do it because he was alone."

"There was no one on the other side to help him."

Maya looked at the other Maya.

They were the same person, born in different worlds, shaped by different events.

But in this moment, they wanted the same thing: to stop the worlds from breaking apart.

"Let's do it," Maya said.

They walked to the gap together.

The darkness inside was deeper now, and the walls seemed closer than before.

Maya could feel the air moving, like the gap itself was breathing.

They stopped at the barrier.

The golden light was very weak now, barely visible.

It looked thin and tired, like a light that was almost out.

"I'll go through to my side," Maya said.

"Then we'll both press our hands against the barrier at the same time."

The other Maya nodded.

"When we do, think about your world. Your real world. The one you started with."

"Think about the yellow kite."

"Think about your mother."

"Think about the life that was really yours."

Maya felt tears on her face.

The life that was really hers.

The life without her father.

The life with the blue door and the yellow flowers and the photo with one person instead of three.

"What about you?" Maya asked. "What will you think about?"

"My world," the other Maya said.

"The one with the green door and the red flowers and my father coming home from work."

Her voice was shaking.

"We're both going to lose something, Maya."

"But we'll get back what's really ours."

Maya nodded.

She could not speak anymore.

She reached out and hugged the other Maya.

It felt like hugging herself, like holding on to a dream she was about to wake up from.

Then she stepped through the barrier.

The golden light washed over her one last time.

She came out in her own garden and turned to face the gap.

She could see the faint glow of the barrier deep inside.

She put her hand against the wall and walked to the barrier.

She could feel it under her fingers, warm and thin.

On the other side, she knew the other Maya was doing the same thing.

Maya closed her eyes and thought about her world.

She thought about the day they had moved to this house, just her and her mother.

She thought about the blue door with the old paint.

She thought about the yellow flowers in the garden.

She thought about the photo on her desk, the one from the beach, with the yellow kite.

She thought about her father leaving.

The rainy Tuesday.

The sound of his car driving away.

The empty feeling in the house afterward.

It had been the worst day of her life, but it had been real.

It was her story.

Not the best story, but hers.

She pressed her hand harder against the barrier.

She could feel the other Maya pressing from the other side.

The barrier began to change.

It got warmer, then hot, then so hot she almost pulled her hand away.

But she held on.

The golden light grew brighter.

It filled the whole gap, bright as the sun.

Maya closed her eyes against the light, but she could still see it through her eyelids.

She heard a sound, a deep, low sound like a bell ringing underwater.

Then the light went out.

The warmth disappeared.

Maya opened her eyes.

Her hand was pressing against cold brick.

There was no barrier.

There was no golden light.

There was just a wall of old brick, solid and real, with moss growing in the cracks.

The door between worlds was closed.

Maya stood in the gap for a long time.

She put her hand on the brick and pushed.

It did not move.

She pressed her ear against it and listened.

Nothing.

No sound from the other side.

No breathing.

No wind.

Just silence.

She walked back to the garden.

The flowers were yellow.

The fence was brown.

The door of the house was blue, with old paint coming off.

She went inside and up to her room.

On the desk, there was one photo.

Her and her father at the beach.

She was holding a yellow kite.

Just the two of them, on her tenth birthday, three years ago.

She picked up the photo and held it against her chest.

The yellow kite.

The right colour.

The true colour.

Her father was gone again.

He was in another city, living another life.

That was her reality.

It was sad, but it was hers.

Maya put the photo back on the desk and got into bed.

She was very tired.

Just her and her mother, in an old house on a narrow street.

No door between worlds.

No other Maya.

No golden light.

But she understood now that wanting something did not make it yours.

That the life you had, with all its missing pieces and broken parts, was still your life.

It was the only one that was real.

She would write a letter to her father tomorrow.

A real letter, on paper, with a stamp.

She would tell him about the new house and the school and Lena.

She would tell him she missed him.

Maya closed her eyes.

Outside, the gap between the houses was dark and quiet.

Just a space between two old buildings.

Nothing more.

But sometimes, late at night, when the wind blew in just the right way, Maya thought she could hear a faint sound from the gap.

A sound like breathing.

Like a door that was closed but still dreaming of being open.

She would smile and go back to sleep.

She had her own world now.

And it was enough.