Twenty-Six Doors

CHAPTER 6

“Every encounter is a new opportunity to feel.” - Hermann Hesse

Dawn crept in softly, brushing the edges of the campus with a pale golden light. Twenty-six doors apart, Alba and Emil stirred almost in unison, as if guided by an invisible thread. Their first thoughts were not of the day ahead, but of the night before—of laughter, of music, of the quiet magic that had bloomed between them.

Alba stretched beneath the covers, her smile lingering. She reached for her phone and summoned the app with a quiet command.

Send a voice message to Emi: Morning! Send.

She dictated, her voice warm and husky, still wrapped in sleep.

At the same time, Emil sat up in bed, the image of Alba vivid in his mind—her smile, her voice, the way she’d made him feel seen. He grabbed his phone without hesitation.

Morning!

He said, cheerful, his grin audible even through the recording.

By some quiet miracle, they sent their messages at the exact same moment. When each received the other’s voice messages, there was a brief, confused pause—a flicker of surprise—before the realisation settled in. Alba’s giggles bubbled up, soft and melodic. Emil’s was louder, marked by delight.

It was the perfect beginning. A confirmation of something unspoken. Though twenty-six doors lay between them, just then, they might as well have been shoulder to shoulder.

Emil rose and headed for the shower, letting the hot water wake his senses and clear his thoughts. As he dried off, he reached for his usual fragrance, remembering Alba’s teasing remark about recognising him by scent. He smiled, sprayed a little more than usual, and stood in front of his wardrobe.

He hesitated, weighing appearances—until Alba’s blindness made the question feel absurd. In the end, he dressed simply, as himself: A checked shirt, jeans, boots. He pulled on his coat and sat briefly at his desk, surrounded by books and scattered notes. His gaze fell on the saxophone resting on its stand.

Today, he thought, I’ll play something for her.

Still holding onto that idea, he picked up his phone and recorded a new message.

Fancy grabbing some breakfast?

His voice carried the quiet thrill of anticipation.

In her room, Alba was already dressed, sitting on the edge of her bed, wrapped in a feeling she couldn’t quite name. Expectation, perhaps. Or hope. The sound of Emil’s message broke the silence, and her heart lifted.

Reply to Emi: Yeah, I’d love to. Send.

They could’ve met in the communal kitchen, but Emil had something else in mind. It was Sunday. The sun was shining. And though she couldn’t see it, he believed—no, he knew—she could feel it.

He left his room in a rush, coat half-buttoned, boots thudding softly against the corridor floor. As he passed the warden, he slowed.

“Morning,” Emil said.

“Morning,” came the gruff reply.

Emil closed his eyes and walked the corridor by touch, his hand trailing along the wall, counting each door. When he reached hers, he knocked three times. As the door opened, he opened his eyes.

There she was.

Radiant.

Her smile was broad, her hair swept up into a casual bun. She wore a terracotta roll-neck jumper—oversized, soft, and richly textured, the colour glowing against her skin. It suited her perfectly. He wondered, fleetingly, how she chose her clothes—what instinct guided her.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice a mix of nerves and

excitement.

He paused, then spoke again.

“Fancy getting off campus today? It’d be a shame not to make the most of the sun and fresh air.”

Alba blinked, surprised by the offer. Her heart quickened.

“That would be ace! I’ve always wanted to explore the area, but it’s not easy on my own.”

Her voice was bright, full of warmth.

As they stepped outside, the sunlight caught her hair, setting it ablaze with flickering flame. Emil watched, quietly mesmerised.

“I’m impressed by your ability to choose colours that suit you,” he said.

A gentle giggle escaped Alba—light and teasing.

“Oh, I’ve got my little tricks,” she said with a grin, “but I’m not giving them away.”