When she closed the door behind her, the sound of the house was left outside.
The clatter of dishes from the kitchen where her mother was, the low murmur of the television, the familiar vibration of the water pipes running through the building…All of it remained on the other side of the door.
Zamira stepped into her room.
The ticking of the clock was unnaturally sharp.Clear enough to be counted.As if time flowed more carefully here.
The room was not dark. The curtains were slightly open, and the pale glow of the streetlight brushed the edge of the bed. Yet the space no longer felt familiar. The walls were the same, the desk was still there, the chair slightly crooked. And still… something was missing.Or something extra had entered.
The room was no longer just a room.It was a point of passage.
Zamira dropped her bag to the floor. She didn't take off her shoes. She didn't sit on the bed.She stood at the center.
Her heart was calm.Her breathing steady.
She wasn't running.She wasn't being pulled.
She was choosing to cross.
She didn't close her eyes.Didn't open her hands.Didn't whisper a word.
She simply intended it.
The world didn't slide.It didn't shatter.It didn't overlap.
It thinned.
As if the layer she stood in had parted like a veil. Her body remained in the room, but her awareness settled into the space between. Not fully here, not fully elsewhere.
And Nayel was there.
Not complete.Not sharp.But unmistakably present.
When Zamira saw him, she didn't stop. She didn't recoil. She didn't hesitate.Nayel, however, tensed.
His world looked like a fractured reflection. Light failed to sit where it should. The horizon line was unfinished. As if everything shaped itself according to Zamira's gaze, yet never quite formed into a whole.
"You can do it now," Nayel said.His voice wasn't surprised.But it was cautious.
"Yes," Zamira replied.It wasn't an explanation.It was acceptance.
Nayel took a step—but not toward her. He kept the distance."Conscious crossing strains the balance."
Zamira didn't look away."The balance was already broken."
The words sent a tremor through Nayel's world. An unseen boundary rippled. Zamira felt it. She was no longer sensing only her own world's rules—but his as well.
"Every time you do this," Nayel said, "the door doesn't open only for you."
Zamira's heart slowed at that moment.Not from fear.From understanding.
"I know," she said.
She needed to return.She could feel it.Staying was possible—but it carried a cost.
She pulled back. Called her awareness home. The world thickened again.The room returned.
But—
Something was wrong.
When she opened her eyes, the air in the room had changed. The light was the same. The objects were where they should be.Yet she was not alone.
The demons did not attack.They did not speak.They did not move.
One stood by the edge of the bed.One leaned against the chair.One faced the mirror.
And one…stood at the head of her body.
Zamira did not flinch. She did not step back. She did not raise her voice.
Neither did they.
This was not an ambush.It was a vigil.
In that moment, Zamira understood.
Opening the door was never the issue.The issue was realizing that every time it opened, it opened not only for Zamira—but for other beings as well.
The room had become a passage point, and this passage activated with every shift Zamira made into another dimension.
One of the demons inclined its head slightly.It wasn't a greeting.It was a form of recognition.
Zamira inhaled.Touched her chest.
The bond was intact.The power was sealed.
But she was no longer alone.And she was no longer being watched.
She was being awaited.