The day began like most others, with the soft hum of morning light filtering through the curtains. I could feel its gentle warmth on my skin as I stirred in my crib, nestled comfortably in the center of my room. My father had come in earlier, and I could hear his deep, steady footsteps even before I saw his big, bushy beard appear in the doorway. His face always made me laugh. It was such a strange, funny face, covered with hair, but his eyes were always soft when he looked at me. There was something comforting about that.

The room where I spent most of my time was large, but a bit empty. The crib stood right in the middle, surrounded by space that stretched far and wide to my tiny eyes. A soft, plush carpet covered the floor, a dull beige color that made everything feel warm and safe beneath my crawling hands. In one corner of the room stood a tall bookshelf, its shelves mostly empty save for a few colorful books and toys scattered haphazardly on the lower levels. The upper shelves were too high for me to reach, even though I liked to imagine what treasures might be hidden there.

Two doors stood opposite each other on either side of the room. One led to the hallway, a vast, mysterious place I hadn’t yet explored fully. The other led to what I guessed was my parents’ bedroom, where I sometimes heard their voices muffled behind the walls. It was a simple room, but to me, it was my entire world—a place where I felt safe, where love filled every corner, and where my father always came to play.

Today was no different. My father entered with a bright smile on his face, holding a small ball in his hand. I squealed in delight as he bent down, kneeling on the carpet across from me. The ball in his hand was one of my favorite toys, soft and round, easy to roll and catch. He placed it on the floor between us, rolling it gently toward me.

“There you go, Alex,” he said in his booming, yet gentle voice. “Let’s see what you can do.”

I giggled, clapping my hands together excitedly. My tiny fingers reached out for the ball as it approached, my arms wobbling with the effort. I grabbed it—though not perfectly—and wobbled as I pushed it back to him. My father laughed, his big, bearded face lighting up with joy. It wasn’t the kind of laugh I heard when he talked to grown-ups. This one was different—more pure, more real, like we shared a secret no one else could understand.

We played for what felt like hours, rolling the ball back and forth, each time getting a little more adventurous. Sometimes, the ball would stray, rolling toward the bookshelf or the door, and I would squeal in protest until he gently nudged it back toward me. The soft thud of the ball against the carpet was a rhythm I had grown to love, a beat that made me feel connected to him, even when we weren’t speaking.

“Look at you,” he said after a while, his voice full of pride. “You’re getting stronger every day, aren’t you?”

I giggled in response, grabbing the ball once more and giving it my best push. It wobbled toward him, and he caught it easily, shaking his head in mock surprise at how strong I was becoming.

But then, just as I was about to push the ball again, I heard her voice. My mother’s voice, calling from somewhere outside the room. It was soft but clear, with that gentle urgency I had come to recognize as the sound that usually meant my father was needed elsewhere. He sighed, glancing toward the door, and I could see the shift in his expression. Playtime was over, at least for now.

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“Alright, little man,” he said, standing up. “Mom needs me. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

He gave me one last smile, then turned and walked toward one of the doors, the one that led to the hallway. I watched him as he left, disappearing behind the door with a soft click. I was alone again.

I looked around the room, feeling a strange mix of disappointment and curiosity. The game had been fun, but now that I was by myself, my attention began to drift. The room suddenly felt much bigger, emptier, and the silence made me want to explore. My eyes moved to the door my father had just passed through. That door… the one that led to the hallway.

The hallway was a place I hadn’t seen much of, except from the arms of my parents. It was always just out of reach, always just beyond the door. And now, the desire to see what was on the other side of it burned in me like never before.

I stared at the door, the same way I had stared at my mobile the day I discovered how to make the stars dance. A thought began to form in my mind, a wild, adventurous thought. What if I opened the door? What if I could see the hallway for myself?

My little legs kicked into motion before I even realized it. I rolled over onto my hands and knees, pushing myself up into a crawl. Slowly, I made my way across the room, the plush carpet soft beneath my palms. My heart pounded with excitement as I got closer and closer to the door.

When I finally reached it, I sat back on my legs, staring up at the large frame towering above me. The handle was far out of reach, but that didn’t bother me. I wasn’t thinking about reaching up. No, I had something else in mind.

I closed my eyes for a moment, focusing on that feeling inside me—the same feeling that had made the mobile spin, that strange, warm energy I could feel whenever I wanted something to move. It was a part of me, I knew that now. I could use it to open the door.

I stretched out with my mind, just like I had with the stars. At first, nothing happened. The door remained still, stubbornly refusing to budge. But I didn’t give up. I pushed harder, willing the door to open, sending that strange, warm energy toward it. And then, with a soft, almost imperceptible swoosh, the door slid open.

I stared in awe, a wide smile spreading across my face. I had done it. I had opened the door.

Without hesitation, I crawled forward, pushing through the small gap and entering the hallway for the first time. The space was much bigger than my room, stretching out in both directions like an endless road. The walls were lined with pictures and lights, casting strange shadows on the floor. The air felt different out here—cooler, quieter, with a sense of mystery that made my heart race.

I didn’t get far before I bumped into something solid. I hadn’t seen it in my excitement, and the sudden impact made me stop. My head hit against something hard, but not too hard—just enough to make me look up.

I blinked, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. At first, all I could see were boots. Big, brown boots standing right in front of me. Slowly, my eyes traveled upward, taking in the sight of long legs, a strange stick leaning against one of them, and then a face. A face with no beard, no hair at all on it, except for a small mustache and a funny, pointed hat sitting on top.

The man stared down at me, his eyes wide with surprise, just as surprised as I was to see him. He wasn’t like my father. His face was bare, smooth, and he wore a long coat that swayed slightly as he stood there, looking down at me. There was something different about him, something that made me curious but also cautious.

I blinked up at him again, my tiny hands resting on the floor in front of me. He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at me with a strange expression, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of me. But there was something in his eyes—something kind, though I didn’t understand it fully yet.

He crouched down slowly, coming closer to my level, his funny hat tilting slightly as he did so. The strange stick in his hand clattered against the floor as he leaned it against the wall, and I stared at it with wide eyes, wondering what it was for.

“Well, hello there,” the man finally said, his voice deep and warm, though quieter than my father’s. His lips curled into a small smile. “And who might you be?”

I didn’t have words yet, at least not the way he did. But I could feel something. A connection, maybe, the same way I felt connected to my parents. There was something about this strange man that made me want to trust him, even though I had never seen him before.

The man looked around, as if expecting someone else to be there. But when he saw no one, his smile grew wider, more amused.

“Looks like you’ve wandered off, little one,” he said, his voice soft. He reached out a hand, not to grab me, but to gently pat my head. “Don’t worry. Let’s get you back to where you belong.”

I blinked up at him, still trying to make sense of it all. This man, with his funny hat and stick, didn’t seem like anyone I had ever met.

But before I could wonder any further, I heard the familiar sound of footsteps. The man stood up, straightening his coat as my mother appeared