Twenty-Six Doors

CHAPTER 4

“Invisible threads are the strongest ties.” - Friedrich Nietzsche

A sudden chill ran through Alba, like a whisper of wind curling beneath her skin. She tucked herself deeper into her jumper, seeking refuge in its worn softness, the fabric wrapping around her like a quiet embrace.

“I’m absolutely freezing, Emi. Fancy heading back to halls?” she said, her voice carrying the gentle weight of exhaustion and the quiet glow of a night well spent.

Emil nodded, though his movements were reluctant.

“Yep, alright,” he replied, the words easy, though his heart wasn’t quite ready to let go of the evening.

He handed her the cane with care, fingers brushing hers for a moment longer than necessary.

They walked slowly, side by side, the silence between them now companionable. Words came and went like the breeze, soft and unforced.

“It’s mad, innit, that we’ve never bumped into each other before,” Emil said, glancing at her with a smile.

Alba burst out laughing—a clear, melodic sound that rippled through the corridor. “Well, I wouldn’t have clocked you anyway,” she teased. “But now, maybe I’ll recognise you by your scent.”

Emil chuckled, a little sheepish, but her humour softened the moment, and he found himself smiling without hesitation.

Once inside the hall of residence, the hush of the corridor wrapped around them like a blanket. Emil watched as Alba reached out, fingertips grazing the wall with quiet certainty.

“How do you find your way to your room?” he asked.

“It’s the first door on the right after the corner. I’ve memorised the steps,” she said, her voice steady, her confidence woven into every syllable.

Emil nodded, thoughtful.

“I’m gonna count the doors from yours to mine, just in case you ever need anything.” There was a pause, then he added, more practically, “You on w******p? I could add you...”

“Yeah, sure. Save you as Emi—makes it easier to find you. I use a voice command app—it proper makes life easier, innit.”

Alba reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out her phone, holding it out to him.

“Ace.”

They exchanged numbers, fingers brushing screens, voices low and warm. Then, almost too soon, they reached her door.

“Thanks for this unexpected night, Emi. Sleep well,” she said, her voice soft, like the final note of a lullaby.

“You too... good night, Alba.”

She stepped inside, and the door closed with a quiet click. Emil stood for a moment, staring at the wood grain, then turned and began to walk. Twenty-six doors. He counted each one, like steps in a memory.

Back in his room, he sat on the edge of his bed, the silence pressing in around him. He picked up his phone, thumb hovering for a moment before he recorded a voice message.

Thanks for sharing your music and your story. It’s twenty-six doors to mine. Sweet dreams, see you tomorrow.

He sent it, then placed the phone down gently, as if the message itself were fragile.

And so the night ended—not with fireworks or declarations, but with a quiet exchange, a thread of understanding stretched between two rooms, two hearts, two stories just starting to knit together.